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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26729809">Battle (Breached Boundaries #4)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskpeterson/pseuds/Dusk%20Peterson'>Dusk Peterson (duskpeterson)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Three Lands [16]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Bards, Character(s) of Color, Eunuchs, F/M, Family, Fantasy, Female Character of Color, Female Protagonist, Friendship, Gen, Goddesses, Gods, Guards, Het, Internalized Transphobia, Male Character of Color, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Music, Nonbinary Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Het, Original Trans Character(s) - Freeform, POV Character of Color, Princes, Princesses, Prisonfic, Recovery, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Soldiers, Spies, Trans, Trans Male Character, Transgender, War, ambassadors, don't need to read other stories in the series, gen - Freeform, male-to-nonbinary-to-male character, original gen, slavefic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:27:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>53,862</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26729809</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskpeterson/pseuds/Dusk%20Peterson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>"He's a bard. I'm his servant. There's no reason to arrest us."</b>
</p><p>
  <b>"The Prince wants you," declared the sublieutenant.</b>
</p><p>The best way to hide may be in plain sight. Or perhaps not.</p><p>In order to reach refuge in the north, Serva must travel through a land controlled by the Prince of Daxis, who has already risked war in order to capture her. Outside Daxis, Serva may be able to claim the title of daughter of the King of Daxis, but here in Daxis she is merely an escaped slave, in danger from her cousin the heir.</p><p>Her escort is untested, while her own knowledge of Daxion geography is slight. Then matters worsen when the Prince extends his reach to catch them on the very border of their crossing. . . .</p><p>
  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskpeterson/profile#w">
    <i>Boilerplate warning for all my stories.</i>
  </a>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Female Character &amp; Original Female Character, Original Female Character &amp; Original Male Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character &amp; Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Three Lands [16]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/15107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A Whisper to the  Dark Side, Badass women centric stories, Chains: The Powerfic Archive, Female Characters Deserve Better, Focus on Female Characters, Slavefic Central, Women being awesome</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><i><b>Author's note:</b> This is the fourth story in </i>Breached Boundaries<i>, a volume in the Three Lands series. You don't need to read the other stories in the series to understand this one.</i></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(<i>Melody:</i> Transforms musical theme into a
martial air. <i>Lyrics:</i>
Depict the conflict.)<br/>
 
</p><p><b>TESTIMONY OF SERVA, PRINCESS OF DAXIS</b>
</p><p>To Brian son of Cossus, Royal Clerk to the Chara of Emor:
</p><p>You have asked me to comment, for the sake of the historical
records,
on how much truth lies behind the Tale of the Spy and the Princess. I'm
afraid that the answer is: Not a great deal. Oh, the facts of the song
are more or less true, but the song fails to convey the horror of what
I and the other participants experienced: our daily fear that our
flight
would end in capture, torment, and death.
</p><p>But rather than speak in general terms, let me comment
directly on the
song itself. Here is the song as Perry and I first heard it during our
flight through Daxis. Perry, of course, recalls the original song with
complete accuracy.
</p><p><i>In the land of Daxis, the land blessed by the Song
Spirit with the
music of bards, there once lived a princess. She was beautiful and
kind,
and all who met her loved her.</i>
</p><p>I must confess that, whenever I hear a bard sing these lines,
I have
a hard time holding back my laughter. The reality, as you know, was
quite
different. My mother was nothing more than a slave-woman whom my father
the King had married in the Spirit – that is to say, without witnesses.
By law, I was nothing more than another slave. The only people who
called
me Princess were Rosetta, the King's Bard (who died around this time);
Sandy, the dungeon-keeper (who loved me as though I were his niece);
and
my father's nephew and heir, Prince Richard (who called me Princess
only
to emphasize the difference in our fortunes).
</p><p>As for being loved by all, it would be closer to the truth to
say that
I was hated or ignored by all. Certainly my fellow slaves never trusted
me.
</p><p><i>One day, while bringing comfort to the prisoners in
the dungeon,
she met a wounded spy who was doomed to die. In the moment that she
first
saw him, she fell in love with him.</i>
</p><p>Actually, like most people, my first impression of Andrew was
that he
was cold and cutting. My second impression of him – acquired when he
held
a dagger to my throat – was that he was a very dangerous man.
</p><p><i>Taking pity upon him, she tended his wounds and
helped him to escape
from his enemies. But the Princess also had an enemy, a man who wished
her to die. He knew secrets that would have increased her fortunes, and
he kept those secrets in his heart.</i>
</p><p>The song is vague here, both because it would not have been
wise to
name the Prince explicitly, and also because no one was sure of why my
cousin Richard was so determined to capture me. I knew little more than
the rest. I only knew that the Prince was privy to a forbidden passage
in the Song of Succession – that is, a forbidden song known only to the
King and his Bard – that was somehow connected with me. My father (may
the Song Spirit have mercy on him) had killed his own Bard rather than
risk having the secret revealed. Since no Consort was alive to guide
him
in such matters and to give him the Song Spirit's command that he had
strayed
from her law, the King spoke his thoughts only to the Prince. The
Prince
in turn had reason to fear me, since any man who married me might be
named
by the Daxion Council as the true heir to the throne. For this reason
my
father tried to force me to marry the Prince, and for this reason—
</p><p><i>The princess, learning of her father's death and
fearing the vengeance
of her enemy, fled from the Land of Daxis with the help of the spy she
had saved.</i>
</p><p>The chronology here isn't right, but it's true that, having
refused
the Prince's offer to marry me in the Spirit, I feared that he would
try
to rape and kill me.
</p><p><i>Then the spy revealed to her that he was in fact a
great man, sent
by the gods to bring peace to the Three Lands.</i>
</p><p>Isn't it odd how often bards anticipate events in their songs?
Surely
this must be a sign that they are guided by the Song Spirit. In fact,
at
this time Andrew had brought peace only to Emor and Koretia, but it's
true
that he was already a great man: blood brother to the Jackal of
Koretia,
friend to the Chara of Emor, and an ambassador between those two
nations.
To find myself assisted by such a man was humbling. To find myself in
love
with him was embarrassing beyond words.
</p><p><i>He took her to a beautiful palace, where she would be
safe from her
enemy.</i>
</p><p>Of course, this was the palace of the Jackal, the god-man who
serves
as ruler of Koretia. I did not stay there for long. The Jackal, fearing
that the Prince's spies would try to capture me there, sent me on a
journey
to the Chara's palace, where he believed I would truly be safe.
</p><p><i>There she met a mighty bard, loved greatly by the
Song Spirit.</i>
</p><p>There I met Perry, mutilated by fire in his childhood, unable
to bear
being touched, and unable to speak to any but a few people, of which I
was one. In spirit, he was less a man than a terrified boy; he was even
afraid of daylight. Yet already he had certain gifts: a perfect memory,
a great love for the Jackal, and courage that gave him the strength to
escort me on my journey to Emor.
</p><p><i>There too the spy came to love the princess. But he
feared the princess,
believing that it was the gods' will that he touch no woman.</i>
</p><p>This, alas, was true.
</p><p><i>And so he fled from the palace, leaving the princess
to weep with
loneliness for the man she loved so well.</i>
</p><p>How the slaves of the Daxion palace learned all this, I will
never know.
Perhaps one of the bards who was expelled from Koretia at this time
brought
back gossip from the Jackal's palace, and the slaves incorporated it
into
the older song they adapted for this purpose: the Song of the Wounded
Man.
</p><p><i>Nor was her danger lessened, for her enemy continued
to seek her,
sending his soldiers to the palace to capture her. But the Song Spirit
denied them their chance, sending them home empty-handed.</i>
</p><p>If I had heard this song without knowing the facts, I would
have considered
this passage to be a fancy spun by a bard. But in fact, no one has ever
been able to find any rational cause for the fire that destroyed most
of
the Daxion soldiers who were attempting to capture the Koretian
capital.
</p><p>Of course, I was not the focus of the fighting. The Prince and
the Jackal
were quarrelling over who should own the mountain that lay between
their
two capitals. Yet the Prince tied the two issues together by demanding
my return as part of the peace terms. And so I, who had been a mere
slave-woman,
found myself at the center of a life-threatening dispute between two
lands.
</p><p><i>Yet none of this mattered to the princess, for her
heart was broken
by the loss of her true love.</i>
</p><p>And there the song ends, for that is where matters stood when
Perry
and I began our journey to the Chara's palace. The rest you know.
</p><p>Serva<br/>
 
</p><p><b>CHAPTER ONE</b>
</p><p>By dawn of the day following Andrew's departure from the
Jackal's palace,
Perry and I had begun making our way across the northern face of
Capital
Mountain, where all was new-grown and green-scented.
</p><p>The tapestry-bright flowering of late spring were giving way
to the
greens of early summer: the apple green of the leaves that bowed to
hold
the weight of the dew-sagged spiders' webs; the dark green of the
trunk-clinging
ivy; the golden green of the swaying ferns; the diamond-specked green
of
a tumbling forest brook; and the pale green of the clovers opening
their
faces above the emerald-green moss.
</p><p>Trailing swiftly over the moss was the ragged edge of Perry's
cloak
– the cloak he had loaned me in Daxis. The day was far too warm for him
to be wearing a cloak, even with it thrust back over his shoulders, but
I suspected that he wore it as a symbolic protection to our journey,
since
the Jackal had given him the cloak many years ago.
</p><p>So far Perry had spoken no word since we left the palace: not
when we
walked down the night-dark slopes of Council Hill that were still
choked
with the tents of refugees from the war, not when we made our way
through
the fire-blackened remains of the city and past the guards just opening
the city gates to the dawn, and not when we made our lonely way down
the
road that eventually led to the Western Gap, passing on our way a few
farmers
bringing their goods to the newly reopened city market.
</p><p>After that, our route had grown more mysterious. First we
turned onto
a well-marked track winding its way up onto the wooded mountainside,
and
then we plunged into the thick of the woods, over no track that I could
identify. Perry, though, appeared to know every step of the way we
took.
The tension in his shoulders slackened somewhat, even though the sun
rode
higher in the sky each moment.
</p><p>We broke free of the trees at last. I brushed the cobwebs and
leaves
out of my hair as I glanced over to my left, where the Koretian capital
lay. We were not far up the mountainside at all, and I could barely see
over the stone wall into the ruins of the city. But what I saw was not
mere waste and death. Amidst the black timbers were bits of color from
farmers setting up their stands in a cleared area, and from city
dwellers
streaming down from Council Hill to break their fasts. For now, the
Koretian
government was paying the farmers to provide food for the city dwellers
who had lost everything.
</p><p>"It's like a forest growing again after a fire."
</p><p>I had not realized I had stopped walking until I heard myself
speak.
Perry stood on the edge of the ridge we had been travelling along,
close
enough that his dawn-stretched shadow touched me. Over his right
shoulder,
hanging from one strap, was a case holding the harp that the King's
Bard
has given me at a time that seemed forever ago, but which had actually
only happened six weeks before. The city home of the Jackal's
subcommander,
where I had left the harp during the fire, had miraculously escaped the
flames that had swallowed so many of the city houses. The Jackal had
returned
the harp to me, and I had promptly gifted the harp to Perry.
</p><p>From where I stood now, on Perry's left side, I could see
nothing but
the twisted remains of his face, burnt in a much earlier fire. Then his
head turned, and I saw the smooth curve of his other cheek.
</p><p>"That's what John said once, about the fire in the city when
we were
children," Perry replied softly. "He said that the god took the fire
that
the Emorians had made, which was evil, and made it his own fire in
order
to bring about good." He stared down at the dark city for a moment
more,
his thoughts clearly focussed on the Jackal, whom he most often called
by the god-man's human name, John. Then he pointed and said, "Look.
That's
where the Emorian is planning to build his houses."
</p><p>It took me a moment to recall what he was talking about. "But
I thought
that the Jackal tore up Valerian's request to build houses, because of
how Valerian had abused you when you were young."
</p><p>Perry shook his head. His long hair fell forward, shielding
his face.
The long hair made him look very young, not in the least like one of
the
Jackal's thief-spies. "We talked about it afterwards," he said. "That
was
such a long time ago; the Emorian may have changed since then. Perhaps
he's half Koretian in his spirit now, the way Andrew is. John and I
decided
that it wouldn't be fair to judge the Emorian only on what he did
twenty-five
years ago. So John is going to meet with him and see what he's like
now."
</p><p>I felt curiosity tremble in me then. I remembered John tearing
up Valerian's
petition and wondered whether, in the moment that he did so, he had
planned
the conversation that followed. Whether or not he had, the Jackal had
given
Perry what he most required: a demonstration of the Jackal's love. In
doing
so, John had strengthened the trust that Perry held for the Jackal.
</p><p>For a moment, I felt as though I was touching on something
important
– something I needed to know for the future – but my thoughts were
scattered
as Perry pivoted on his heel. He pointed down the slope. "Do you see
the
building through the trees there? That's the priests' house. That's
where
John and I lived before he became the Jackal."
</p><p>I could just see the massive, cream-stoned building that
looked as though
it were a mere outgrowth of mountain rock. Shading the left side of his
face as though shielding himself against the touch of the morning sun,
Perry said, "John and I go back there sometimes. The priests made the
cell
where we lived into a chapel dedicated to the Unknowable God. They were
going to dedicate it to the Jackal, but John pointed out that he
wouldn't
be able to worship there if they did. After all, he can't worship
himself."
</p><p>"Isn't the Unknowable God supposed to be all of the gods
together? I
don't understand how John could worship any god at all."
</p><p>"I don't really understand it either. But John says that he
can worship
the Unknowable God, so it must be true."
</p><p>His voice was low, barely audible above the cicadas who were
briskly
greeting the morning warmth. To me, the mountain appeared deserted of
all
people, but Perry spoke with the hush of a spy making his way through
enemy
territory. I turned, ready to hasten through this stage of our journey,
but Perry was saying, "Ursula lived in the priests' house too. John
took
care of her because she was an orphan."
</p><p>My mind drifted back to the cheerful woman who had been Chara
Peter's
Consort before the death of that Emorian ruler. "I've been wondering
about
Lady Ursula," I said, tilting my head toward the warmth of the dawn sun
as I stared back up at the bulky house. "She's Andrew's sister, yet her
skin is so pale. Do she and Andrew have Emorian blood in them?"
</p><p>There was a scuffing noise. I looked over to see that Perry
was kicking
up small puffs of dust with his boot. After a moment, he said, "Andrew
doesn't. Andrew's father was a Koretian soldier who was killed by a man
in the Emorian army during the Border Wars."
</p><p>"And Andrew's mother was Koretian as well?"
</p><p>Perry nodded, still staring at the airborne sand drifting
slowly up.
"She was killed by another Emorian soldier, though it took her several
months to die. Ursula was born before that happened."
</p><p>"But who was Lady Ursula's—?"
</p><p>I stopped abruptly, understanding finally what Perry was
telling me.
I concentrated my gaze on the fire-orange mushrooms blooming at the
edge
of the woods until Perry added, "It was when the Emorians attacked;
John
and Andrew saw it happen. The soldier ravished Andrew's mother and
tried
to kill her. Andrew attacked him, and John tried to help Andrew. The
soldier
tried to kill John as well. John fell unconscious from his wound. When
John woke up a short time later, Andrew was gone; the soldier captured
Andrew. So John helped Andrew's mother escape from the fire."
</p><p>It was clear from the manner in which Perry told the story
that his
thoughts were focussed on John's courage on the day of the first fire.
My thoughts, though, had shot back to the moment two weeks before, when
Andrew had flung a young Daxion soldier – my would-be rapist – back
against
a cottage wall and placed a sword-tip against his throat. So much,
then,
lay behind the look that Andrew had given him.
</p><p>And yet . . . and yet Andrew had saved young Marius's life
shortly thereafter.
Even more than that—
</p><p>"He stayed in Emor," I said wonderingly. "After all that the
Emorians
did to him and his mother and his blood brother, Andrew stayed in Emor
after he was freed from slavery."
</p><p>Beside me, Perry's cloak fluttered like the wings of a bird as
he whirled
around to stare once more at the city below. I briefly glimpsed his
untouched
face, tight with anger, and then saw nothing more than the ruins on the
other side. "I don't understand!" he said with vehemence. "I don't
understand
how Andrew can like the Emorians. They're a cruel people: they
conquered
all of the northern peninsula by warfare, and they'd do the same here
if
they had the chance. They cut their slaves and they beat their
children.
Why he would want to keep visiting there after what they did—"
</p><p>His foam-white teeth reached out and bit his lower lip shut as
he continued
to tilt his face to look at the fire-ruined city below. After a moment,
I focussed my gaze on the green shoots struggling their way through the
dead leaves of the previous winter. I looked up again as Perry turned
once
more toward the mountain. As though there had been no interruption in
our
conversation, he pointed toward the peak. "Look. You can just see it
from
here."
</p><p>For a moment I could see nothing through the dark pines and
scrub of
the high slopes. Then the sun must have risen another notch in the sky,
for suddenly the peak was bathed in a nimbus of light. Near the top of
the mountain, I could see a bit of a building, built of sandstone as
though
it were another outgrowth of the mountain, but tiny, crumbling, like
the
marking stone of some ancient ash-tomb.
</p><p>I caught my breath as Perry said, "It's the gods' house.
That's where
the priests used to worship in the old days."
</p><p>"I remember that you mentioned it once. You said that John
goes there."
</p><p>"John and Andrew. It's Andrew's house, really; that's where he
usually
stays when he visits the city. John goes up and stays with him. It
drove
the royal officials mad at first, the way the Jackal kept leaving his
duties
and going off onto the mountainside, but he always comes back with new
ideas about how to run his government, so they've become used it."
</p><p>I looked over at Perry, who was staring up at the ancient
house with
narrowed gaze, as though trying to see something in the far distance.
"Do
you go there as well?"
</p><p>Perry shook his head, allowing his gaze to drop. "They always
invite
me, but I think John and Andrew like to have time alone. Andrew was
John's
blood brother before John and I met, you see."
</p><p>There was an odd tone in Perry's voice, as different from his
normal
tone as the fire-orange mushrooms were different from the dark colors
of
the woods. I had no chance to analyze what it was, though, for Perry
turned
suddenly and began making his way along the ridge, which curved uphill.
</p><p>The tender spring grass gave way to bare rock. Perry, still
following
his own invisible route, began to scramble up the side of a bare rock,
then looked back at me and said hesitantly, "It's a bit steep here."
</p><p>"I'm dressed for a climb," I said, pulling my tunic up higher
so that
I could stretch my leg up to find a toehold on the rock. By the time I
reached the top of the rock, I was as pale as an Emorian with
rock-dust,
and my palms were scraped white. Perry was sitting cross-legged at the
top of the rock, with his sheathed sword over his knees, staring down
intently
at the landscape below as though he had forgotten I was there. I made
the
final scramble onto the top, then sat down beside him and looked out
upon
the Sea of Koretia.
</p><p>That, my father had taught me, was the name for Koretia's
unending forest,
and now I could see why: the green mass of trees that reached to the
horizon
reminded me of the green sea-waves I had seen in pictures. The forest
started
at the triangle tip of Capital Mountain and spread outward, as though
the
mountain were a ship leaving a furrow in its wake. My eye was caught by
the mountain range whose line travelled northwest. On the western side
of those mountains, I knew, were the close-clustered towns of eastern
Daxis;
there lay our route to Emor, and there lay renewed danger.
</p><p>Glancing over at Perry, I found that he was no longer looking
at the
landscape but at my tunic, which was still pulled high up on my thighs.
Feeling my face grow warm, I hastily pulled the hem down, then
regretted
the gesture as Perry noticed it and quickly looked away. After a moment
he said in the tentative voice of a child caught looking where he had
no
business to look, "I was just thinking . . . I was wishing that you
didn't
have to wear that. That you didn't have to pretend you're my slave."
</p><p>"I'll be less conspicuous as a slave-servant than as a
free-servant.
Anyway, it will save us money. We can share rooms along the way."
</p><p>Perry gave me a startled look. "But won't people think— I
mean, you're
a woman, and I'm . . ." His voice trailed off.
</p><p>I managed to keep from smiling. "I assure you, it's quite
common for
male bards to be accompanied by slave-women and for female bards to be
accompanied by slave-men. It's an old tradition; I think it's supposed
to symbolize the fact that the Spirit sends her songs to both men and
women.
Nobody will assume that there's anything more to our relationship than
that."
</p><p>"Oh, I see." Perry was staring down at the rock now, tracing
figures
in the dust with his finger. "Well, I don't suppose anybody would think
that anyway. I mean, I'm not really—"
</p><p>He voice broke off abruptly, and his right hand rose from the
dust and
gripped his sword hilt in a fumbling movement. I half rose from my
place,
having also heard the rustling in the bushes behind us. The bushes were
low and scrubby, the type that flourish in shallow soil, and there was
no room in them for a man – unless he were lying down, watching us and
waiting for the right moment.
</p><p>I heard a familiar whispering sound – familiar from my years
spent visiting
the Daxion army headquarters – as Perry pulled his blade from its
silver
sheath. His hand was nearly steady as he slowly turned and rose from
his
place, but I did not care for the look in his eye. In any case, I was
not
going to sit by passively while Perry confronted a dangerous and armed
man.
</p><p>The bush continue to rustle, as though our eavesdropper had
not yet
seen us coming. Then suddenly it stopped. Perry paused, as though
judging
how best to approach his attack. Realizing that part of his problem was
reaching the man who had been spying upon him, I gestured toward the
bushes.
After a moment of hesitation, Perry nodded.
</p><p>Swiftly, I pulled back the branches of the bush . . .
</p><p>. . . to reveal a rabbit.
</p><p>It was trapped, not by a hunter's loop, but by vines that had
entwined
its hind feet. It was frozen, trying to hide itself through stillness.
Beside me, Perry slid his sword back into its sheath with its telltale
whisper. When I looked his way, though, I saw that his expression of
concentration
had not altered.
</p><p>I had been about to let the branches fall back into place, but
now I
said softly, "Can you cut it free with your sword? Or with your
dagger?"
I glanced at his thigh, where spies carry tiny daggers hidden in
thigh-pockets.
</p><p>Perry's gaze remained fixed upon the rabbit, but he flicked up
the hem
of his tunic to reveal that his right thigh was bare of all weapons. Of
course, I thought to myself. Of course Perry would not carry a weapon
that
small. He wouldn't be able to come close enough to anyone to use a
thigh-dagger.
That was why Andrew had trained him to fight with a sword.
</p><p>A blur of movement caught my eye; it was Perry coming forward,
bare-handed.
"Be careful," I warned as he crouched down to the rabbit. "It may hurt
you—"
</p><p>A high wail cut off words. It was the eeriest, highest-pitched
sound
I had ever heard. Sensing its death, the rabbit was screaming.
</p><p>Perry's back was between me and the rabbit; I did not see how
he managed
it, but a moment later, the rabbit limped away, as rapidly as it could,
still screaming in fear. Its cry faded as it moved out of sight.
</p><p>Shaken, I said, "It really didn't like being touched."
</p><p>Too late, I heard my own words and looked at Perry. But he
simply nodded,
as though I had spoken a truism he was long familiar with. "The cave
entrance
is over there," he said in his quiet voice.
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>The cave was the same cave that was the source of Daxis's
troubles with
Koretia, of course.
</p><p>I had grown up hearing the story of how, when I was eight
years old,
Koretia fell to Emor at the end of the Border Wars because Daxis
allowed
the Emorian army entrance to Koretia through the mountain cave between
the Daxion capital and the Koretian capital. Here in this cave, in
ancient
times, the gods and goddesses had dwelt among their people, and the
Song
Spirit had drawn her children to her bosom.
</p><p>Prince Richard, with his single-minded focus on soldiering,
had told
me earlier in the spring that the mountain and its cave were of
military
importance to both Daxis and Koretia. It would have been more to the
point
to say that the cave was of sacred importance. The cave was the
birthplace
of both Koretia and Daxis; tradition said that both nations had been
founded
there, by divine bidding. The Koretians, who chose to follow their
seven
gods and goddesses, had spread northward from the cave. The Daxions,
who
chose to follow only the Song Spirit, had spread to the west and
northwest
and southwest of the cave. But neither land had ever released its claim
upon its birthplace.
</p><p>Despite my royal origins, I had never before visited the cave.
I stood
at the entrance, breathing in the cool darkness. At the end of the
tunnel
in front of us, something glowed. But I could not see the source of the
glow: I could only hear the quiet sound of voices, speaking in
Koretian.
</p><p>Border guards, presumably. I wondered how we would manage to
get past
them. The Jackal had declined to give Perry or me any form of
identification,
saying that we might be searched by Daxion soldiers. He seemed very
certain
that the Chara of Emor would nonetheless welcome us into his palace and
offer me refuge from the Prince. I was a good deal less certain.
</p><p>As for the Koretian guards, perhaps they already knew Perry?
Perry,
I was aware, almost never left the palace and had only visited Daxis
once,
during the previous month. He had implied to me that he had slipped
over
the border through some secret means. Had he been permitted past the
Koretian
border guards first?
</p><p>I looked over at Perry, seeking the answer to my question, and
found
that he was gesturing to me. So well hidden in the shadows that I would
never have noticed it was a crack in the wall, about the height of a
child.
As I watched, staring, Perry slipped through the crack.
</p><p>I looked down at myself. As a slave, I had never achieved the
enviable
plumpness that most noblewomen aspired toward. Even though I had been
well
fed in the Jackal's palace during the past month, I was still slender
as
a reed. I was not, however, as slender as Perry; certain parts of me
jutted
out.
</p><p>I sighed, studied the problem as best I could, and turned
myself sideways
to slide through the gap.
</p><p>It was like being a baby trying to push its way back into a
womb. I
very nearly trapped myself when the belt-purse I was wearing snagged on
a rock. For a frantic moment, I felt myself stuck and knew that I would
not get out.
</p><p>Then Perry tugged at me, and I fell forward.
</p><p>When I straightened up, I saw Perry hunched over his hand,
nursing it.
It was his left hand, I saw. Normally he never used that hand, for it
was
disfigured by the fire that had burnt him when he was a child. But he'd
had enough sense not to use his right hand, which was his sword hand.
</p><p>I bit my lip. My impulse was to pour out apologies, but there
was nothing
to apologize for here. This was the reality of Perry's life: he could
not
touch anyone without feeling fire. Probably not a month of his life had
gone by when he hadn't been forced by circumstances to brave the bite
of
the fire. As long as the touch was brief, all he had to fear was the
intense
pain – "like deliberately touching a hot stove," the Jackal had said
softly
to me once, watching Perry help to her feet a small girl who had
tumbled
during her visit to the palace. The Jackal's voice had been
matter-of-fact,
but in his eyes I had seen admiration for Perry's courage.
</p><p>It must be something to have courage that would impress a
god-man, I
thought as I waited for Perry to catch his breath. And the strangest
part
about it was that Perry continued to believe that he was a coward.
</p><p>"I'm sorry," he finally whispered, as though what had happened
was <i>his</i>
fault.
</p><p>"Thank you for rescuing me," I whispered back, certain now
that he didn't
want to attract the attention of the Koretian border guards.
</p><p>"You would have rescued yourself eventually," he whispered,
dismissing
the matter with a wave of his uninjured hand. "We go this way."
</p><p>I followed him through the narrow tunnel, which seemed more
like a crack
between rocks. The light from the cave entrance gradually dimmed, till
I was following Perry only by the sound of his footsteps in front of
me.
My hands brushed cool, moist rocks on either side of me. I could feel a
light breeze touching my face. Truly, this was like entering a womb,
but
I felt more excited than frightened. So small was the entrance to this
tunnel that few men and women could have ever entered it – perhaps only
children. Perhaps, a thousand years ago, the Song Spirit's earliest
children
had played here.
</p><p>Gradually, light began to glow again. Stepping under an arch,
I found
that Perry and I had entered a cylindrical room, bathed in light.
Looking
up, I saw that there was a substantial hole in the ground above us,
letting
in the light of the outside world.
</p><p>There was nothing in the room except what appeared to be a
fire-pit.
Perry knelt down, touching it, his long hair stirring in the breeze.
</p><p>"What is this place?" I asked, keeping my voice low, because
of the
hole above.
</p><p>"This is where it all began," Perry said softly. "This is
where John
and Andrew exchanged their blood vows of friendship, when they were
boys."
</p><p>I felt a chill down the back of my neck that wasn't the
breeze. "Andrew
showed you this place?"
</p><p>"John did." Perry stood up finally. "And further on is the
cave where
John and Andrew first saw the late Chara Peter, when he was still a
boy.
That was the day when the Emorians attacked us. Andrew said that, the
moment
he and the Chara caught sight of each other, it was as though they both
knew. The Chara Peter said it later, too. There was a binding here.
Between
the Chara and Andrew and John."
</p><p>Fifteen years later, the lands of Koretia and Emor had been
bound in
peace together, not only through Andrew's peacemaking, but also through
his bonds of friendship with both the Chara and the Jackal. I had heard
that story growing up, too – of how the Chara had released the
rebellious
dominion of Koretia to its freedom and given the rulership of the land
over to its rebel-leader, the Jackal. Only recently had I realized,
though,
that this peacemaking would never have taken place if it had not been
for
Andrew.
</p><p>And this was where it had all begun. The blood vow that would
bring
peace to the Three Lands.
</p><p>A peace that had now been broken through the war between
Koretia and
Daxis.
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>The Spirit's womb was golden, and it glowed like the sun.
</p><p>I turned in a circle, taking in the miracle. It was just as it
had been
described in the Song of Gold Walls. What lay beyond the narrow tunnel
we had travelled through was a mighty cavern, the size of a village.
The
top of the cavern was lost in darkness. Where Perry and I stood,
though,
the walls of the cavern glowed.
</p><p>I put my hand tentatively upon the cool rock. When I took my
hand away,
my hand glowed. Touching my hand with my fingers, I realized that
something
clung to the cave walls, turning them golden.
</p><p>Yet the walls underneath, I could dimly see, were of the same
golden
rock as the older portion of the Jackal's palace was built with.
</p><p>"How old is this cave?" I asked Perry in a whisper.
</p><p>He simply shook his head. He had not spoken since we left the
shelter
of the "sanctuary" where John and Andrew had played when they were
boys.
Faintly, I could hear the sound of the Koretian guards chatting to one
another.
</p><p>Perry beckoned, and I followed him. It took us quite a while
to reach
the other side of the cavern. When we did, all that lay behind it were
more caverns. These were the size of large rooms, each large enough to
house a family; they were strung together like beads.
</p><p>I was remembering more history now. My ancestors – the
ancestors of
all the inhabitants of the southern portion of the Great Peninsula –
had
come from the east, over a desert. They had not originally lived in a
desert,
though; the tales said that they had lived in caves, in a land filled
with
greenery. As time went on, the desert took over their land. Seeking
verdure
again, they had travelled over the desert, and eventually across the
Koretian
Straits to the black border mountains, where they met and intermarried
with men and women who had come down from the northern mainland. Then
the
desert people – now mixed in blood with the northerners – had travelled
further south until they reached a mountain with a cave.
</p><p>Why Capitol Mountain had a cave, I was not sure. Rosetta the
King's
Bard had once told me that the waters from the Daxion Gulf were closer
to Capital Mountain then; perhaps the waters had carved out a cave. If
so, the southerners were dissatisfied with what they found; they set
about
extending the cave until, in the end, the system of caverns served as a
tunnel between what became two capitals. Originally, though, the
caverns
had been dwelling places for all the inhabitants of the southern
peninsula.
These caves that Perry and I walked through had once housed men and
women
and children who went outside only to gather food and fuel. Here
children
had been born and had grown and had died as old men and women.
</p><p>How long ago? At least a thousand years ago, if the dating
system of
the Three Lands was true. All of the Three Lands of the Great Peninsula
dated their origins to 991 years before, on a day when the Koretians
had
determined to follow their seven gods and goddesses, while the Daxions
had been called to worship the Song Spirit.
</p><p>And Emor? What had happened in the northern peninsula on that
day, to
make the Emorians found their own government?
</p><p>The light was growing dimmer, the farther that Perry and I
travelled;
the glowing walls were apparently confined to the main cave and its
surrounding
caverns. As I touched the walls, I felt that they had grown rougher;
perhaps
we were now in the sandstone sea-caves that had originally existed
under
the mountain.
</p><p>Were there mountains in Emor? I knew very little about our
northern
neighbor. Emor to me was a mighty army ruled over by the pitiless
Chara,
who grabbed land at the slightest provocation. He had enslaved Koretia
during my childhood. Only the Jackal's skills as a rebel-leader – and,
I had learned later, Andrew's skills as an ambassador – had persuaded
the
Chara to allow Koretia its freedom.
</p><p>But that was an older Chara, I reminded myself: the Chara
Peter, who
had died four years ago. The new Chara, who had successfully fought a
civil
war to hold his throne, might be even more ferocious.
</p><p>Chilled now, not only by the coolness of the cave but also by
thought
of what lay at our journey's end, I almost walked into the Daxion
guards.
</p><p>They had placed themselves just out of sight at an abrupt turn
of the
tunnel we were following. We had reached them by ill chance; Perry had
been choosing our turnings in the maze of caverns seemingly at random.
But there they were, with a lantern hanging from a great nail that was
hammered into the wall: six guards, all armed.
</p><p>Running would do us no use, though Perry looked very much as
though
he wanted to. He stood steady, though, lifting his chin at this
challenge.
</p><p>The real challenge would be mine, though. Surreptitiously
wiping my
moist palms on my tunic, I stepped forward, taking care – for the first
time since I had escaped Daxis the previous month – to lower my eyes in
the presence of free-men.
</p><p>"May the Spirit sing to you, sirs," I said, doing my best to
sound cheerful
at meeting my own countrymen. "I am Serva, servant to the bard Perry.
Can
you direct us to the best way to reach the land of the goddess?"
</p><p>We had decided, after much discussion, to keep our own names.
"Perry"
was a common enough name in the Three Lands, Perry's distinctive face
was
little known, and only Perry's friends were aware that the Jackal's
longtime
companion had unexpectedly shown himself to possess a Daxion talent for
singing. As for my name, I had been the only Serva living in the King's
palace, but I had heard that every dozenth slave in Daxis was named
Serva,
the Old Daxion word for slave. A slave by that name who was serving a
bard
should excite no interest.
</p><p>And indeed, the sublieutenant of the guards, after glancing
briefly
at me, turned his attention to Perry. "What is the purpose of your
visit
to Koretia, sir?"
</p><p>"He does not speak, sir," I said hastily. "He made a vow, long
ago,
to reserve his voice only for the Song Spirit."
</p><p>This announcement happily drew the guards' attention away from
the vexed
question of why we had been travelling through an enemy land during
wartime.
"A mute bard?" said one guard with a disbelieving laugh. "I've never
heard
of such a thing."
</p><p>"How do we know that he's really a bard?" demanded another
guard. "Anyone
can carry a harp." He pointed to Perry's harp case. During our final
day
in Koretia, I had taught Perry to play the harp. It had taken only one
lesson for him to memorize everything I knew.
</p><p>A third guard nodded. "Give us a song, then, to prove what you
are."
</p><p>They had lost interest in me again. All their eyes now were on
Perry.
This in itself was a danger; I could see that Perry's breath had turned
rapid.
</p><p>As I already knew, though, Perry was no coward. For him, to be
scrutinized
by strangers was agony, but he simply took out the harp and waited.
</p><p>He could not sing unless instructed to; that was what none of
the expectant
guards knew. I asked quickly, "What song would you like, sirs?" I
prayed
that they would not ask for a song we didn't know. I had taught Perry
every
song I had been taught, and he, with his perfect memory, could now sing
those songs. But my own repertoire was small, confined to the songs I
had
heard Rosetta sing over the years, or the work-songs of slaves, or the
occasional ribald song of a soldier.
</p><p>"Something merry and bright," suggested the last guard who had
spoken.
"It is dark here, in the womb of the Spirit."
</p><p>"Merry, yes," agreed another guard who had not yet spoken.
"Something
we can dance to. Sing us that, bard."
</p><p>Perry ran his hand lightly over the strings; his gaze had gone
beyond
the guards to the darkness behind them. I held my breath. Then Perry
began
to sing.
</p><p>He had chosen – or perhaps the Song Spirit had chosen for him
– a song
that required little knowledge of harping: a simple tune such as might
be heard in a nursery. It was in fact the first song I ever remembered
hearing, back in the days when I lived in the palace nursery, along
with
my cousin Richard. The King's Bard had sung it for us one day, in an
idle
moment, as Richard and I joined hands together and danced about the
room.
It was about a merchant on his horse, jauntily making his way to
market,
bouncing up and down on his horse . . .
</p><p>The guards did not dance, but they tapped their toes and
clapped and
shouted "Hey-up!" at all the appropriate moments. I felt myself relax
as
Perry quickened his pace in response to the guards' clapping. I was
home
again, in a land where the goddess' gifts were truly appreciated. Where
Perry's gifts would be truly appreciated.
</p><p>For this was why the Jackal had chosen to send us through
Daxis on our
dangerous journey north. Not only in hopes of hiding us in plain sight
from the Prince, but also to give Perry an opportunity to exercise his
newfound talents in a land where his singing would be truly
appreciated.
</p><p>The guards applauded thunderously when Perry finished. One of
them would
have pounded Perry on the back, except that I said hastily, "He has
also
taken a vow to touch no one, except in the Song Spirit's service."
</p><p>They accepted this. The eccentricities of bards were well
known. The
sublieutenant said, "Welcome home, Bard Perry. I am willing to guess
you
are well pleased to be among the Song Spirit's children again." Then he
turned to the other guards and said, "Take them."
</p><p>Three of them were around us at once, not touching us, but
making clear
that we would not be allowed to retreat. I felt my throat close in.
Perry's
eyes had widened, and his hand began to drift toward his sword hilt.
</p><p>"But why?" I demanded. "He's a bard. I'm his servant. There's
no reason
to arrest us."
</p><p>"The Prince wants you," declared the sublieutenant. Then, just
as I
was tempted to scream, he added, "You won't have heard; you were in
Koretia.
The Prince has sent out his summons. All male bards within a day's ride
of the palace are to attend him."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"So then the Prince invited the guests of the King's funeral
to attend
a banquet," said Thome. He had barely stopped chattering since we had
first
met, a short time before. "It was a <i>big</i> banquet,
with lots and lots
of people—"
</p>
<p>Flavia clucked her tongue. "How do you expect your audience to
keep
still for such dull songs, my boy? 'Lots and lots of people' indeed."
</p>
<p>Thome grinned at her, unrepentant. He was about eight, the age
that
Andrew and I had been when Koretia's capital was attacked. I was
surprised
that the Prince's soldiers had considered it worth their while to scoop
the boy up during their general kidnapping of every male bard within a
day's ride of the palace. But Thome – undoubtedly sharing the view of
many
bards – was greatly excited at being granted the opportunity to enter a
singing contest that would determine who the new apprentice to the
King's
Bard would be.
</p>
<p>"Not that there's a King's Bard yet," Flavia had commented,
which had
led Thome to burst out with his present ballad. He was clearly pleased
to be the one to convey news to a fellow bard who had been out of the
country
at the time these events had taken place.
</p>
<p>I glanced at Perry. He seemed to have shrunk into himself
during our
daylight walk down the southern side of the mountain. Our armed escort,
showing consideration for his clear shyness, had gathered themselves
quite
loosely at our back and front. They had remained polite to us all
along,
even when confiscating my belt-purse. "So that it will be safe from
thieves
in the palace," the sublieutenant had said with a straight face.
</p>
<p>Now the border guards were absorbed in chatting with the
soldiers who
had escorted Thome and Flavia from the nearby country inn where they
had
been staying, on a journey south to visit kinfolk. Thome's parents, it
seemed, had trusted Thome's nurse enough to allow her to serve as his
only
companion on this trip; the parents had stayed behind in the inn.
</p>
<p>Though judging from the flavor of Flavia's scolding, she was
more to
Thome than simply a nurse. "Pick up the pace," she instructed now.
"When
your audience looks bored, stir up the music."
</p>
<p>"You're not bored, are you?" With a shade of anxiety, Thome
craned his
neck to look at Perry. Thome had shown not the least bit of
apprehension
at the sight of Perry's damaged face. Flavia, though obviously
discomfited
by Perry's appearance, had bowed to him with due respect for a bard,
then
had greeted me with hearty welcome at having a companion on the
journey.
</p>
<p>Perry did not look up; he merely seemed to fold tighter into
himself.
I filled the silence by saying, "No, we're not bored in the least. We'd
like to hear your tale." In my case, this was certainly true.
</p>
<p>Reassured, Thome kicked a stone off the mountain highway we
were following.
If I tilted my head slightly, I could just see on the slope above it
the
narrow path that Andrew and I had followed on the night of my escape
from
the Daxion palace. Had that really been only six weeks before?
</p>
<p>Thome said, "The banquet had lots and lots of people— You
needn't glare
at me, Nurse. Bards repeat passages; I learned that last week. Lots and
lots of people, because they all expected the Prince to ask the council
to make him King— Why does he have to do that?" asked Thome,
interrupting
his own tale.
</p>
<p>Flavia's shrug made clear she knew little of such high
matters. I said,
"The Song of Succession tells about that. The Spirit gave Queen Lily a
council to advise her and to determine whether her heir was worthy to
succeed
her. Ever since then, the council has had the right to confirm the
heir."
</p>
<p>"Just like the Bard does," Thome concluded. "The Royal Bard
has to give
her consent too, doesn't she? But I guess she had already done so. I
hear
that the Prince is going to marry her."
</p>
<p>"That's a nasty, shocking rumor, and I won't have you
spreading it,"
Flavia snapped. Turning to me, she said apologetically, "He's still too
young to distinguish between songs of fancy and songs of truth."
</p>
<p>"I understand that the Prince is very fond of Baroness
Eulalee," I said,
trying to soften the blow for Thome, who was looking abashed now. "It's
natural that such tales should arise about Prince Richard. Or I suppose
I should say King Richard." The combination of title and name left a
bad
taste on my tongue.
</p>
<p>Thome looked delighted. "You hadn't heard, then?"
</p>
<p>"Heard what?" I glanced again at Perry, who continued to keep
his gaze
fixed on the dirt of the road, but who no longer looked as though he
considered
himself under immediate attack, since Thome was now addressing his
questions
to me.
</p>
<p>"Tell the tale in order, my boy," said Flavia, though she too
looked
excited now at conveying news. I wondered what had occurred in Daxis
that
could cause such excitement. Surely not an assassination; Richard was
much
loved by his soldiers and had taken great pains to gather the loyalty
of
my father's other subjects, to the point that I had sometimes wondered
whether he was planning his own assassination and coup.
</p>
<p>And now, I thought – the foul taste in my mouth again –
Richard had
succeeded.
</p>
<p>"All right." Thome was practically dancing on the road by this
point,
gripping tight the case that held his small harp. "So everyone was
gathered
there, waiting for the Prince to claim the throne, and the council was
there too, and what nobody knew about the council— Is it all right to
tell
this part first?" Thome paused in his dance to appeal to Flavia's
judgment.
</p>
<p>She cocked her head to a side, considering. She had the
plumpness of
a well-favored free-servant in a rich household, which made her welcome
of me all the more gracious, since my tunic clearly proclaimed my
status
as a slave. Her own status seemed to be part nurse, part lyrics tutor,
though I assumed that Thome must have received more formal instruction
in lyrics and melody at home. At any rate, if Thome's parents were
permitting
her to escort Thome to the palace, she must have taken on the
traditional
role of bard's servant – the same role that I held with Perry, though
most
free-servants would not have acknowledged our equality in such a
situation.
</p>
<p>Now she nodded. "I think so. It allows for a quicker
Settlement if you
pull back this part of the tale to the Adversaries."
</p>
<p>"We're in the Stakes section of the ballad already," Thome
insisted.
"We're telling what the stakes of the conflict are."
</p>
<p>"But have not yet made clear who the adversaries are," I
inserted, growing
impatient at this delay of the news. "May I assume that the Prince and
the High Lady are the adversaries?"
</p>
<p>Thome looked crestfallen at having this portion of the tale
revealed.
Flavia said briskly, "It is a complex song; there is a greater
adversary
to come. Go on, my boy; don't leave your audience waiting."
</p>
<p>Thome said promptly, "Nobody knew then, but the High Lady
wasn't happy.
You see, the King had died in battle, yet he had never before taken
part
in battle – never! Nobody knew why he had done so on the day he died.
And
on the night before he died, there was some sort of attack at the
Western
Gap— Is it all right if I say I don't know what the attack was?"
</p>
<p>Flavia considered this question, then nodded. "You could
describe it
as a mysterious attack by the Jackal. The Prince announced that much."
</p>
<p>I felt my heart jerk, and I glanced at Perry, who had raised
his head.
We exchanged looks. I knew that we were both remembering the Jackal, on
the point of slaughtering Subcaptain Derek and his men after they had
captured
Andrew at the border.
</p>
<p>"'A mysterious attack by the Jackal.'" Thome rolled this
poetic phrase
on his tongue before saying, "But that wasn't all. On the same night,
Lady
Felicia – one of the council ladies – took poison. She left a note
blaming
the Prince for her death. And when the High Lady learned all this, she
sent her trusted free-servant to investigate, and her servant learned
that
there had been <i>another</i> death at the palace that
night: a scribe
had fallen down the stairs. Now, the High Lady knew that Lady Felicia
had
attended the King and his Bard earlier that night. And the free-servant
found that the scribe had been at that gathering as well. And not long
before the scribe died, she had mentioned to a friend that Captain
Verald's
orderly had attended the gathering. Well, can you imagine? Captain
Verald's
orderly was missing. He hadn't been seen since that night. So the King
was dead, and two of the people who had been with him the night before
were dead, and a third person was probably dead. So the High Lady went
to see the Bard, who hadn't emerged from her quarters since the
previous
night, and what do you suppose the High Lady found?"
</p>
<p>"A corpse," announced Flavia, unable to resist being the
person to announce
this horrific event. "She had a dagger right through her heart. Whoever
killed the others had murdered the King's Bard as well."
</p>
<p>"Rosetta's death was announced while we were in Koretia," I
said. "There
was no announcement that she was murdered, though." My mouth was dry.
What
Thome was describing was not far-off events for me; the pain of that
night
remained with me. At least there was no mention of me in this song. In
all likelihood, everyone except the Prince had forgotten about me as
soon
as I departed the palace.
</p>
<p>"No, High Lady Elizabeth kept quiet about that," said Thome.
He didn't
appear in the least bit disturbed at Flavia having stolen part of his
song;
the affection between the two of them was plain. "She didn't tell
anyone
what she'd learned from her free-servant. She spoke to the Prince about
Rosetta's death, of course; he seemed shaken by that. So she kept her
counsel—
That's a lovely phrase, isn't it? I took it from the Song of Sorrow."
</p>
<p>"Don't praise yourself," admonished Flavia. "You're serving
the Song
Spirit – remember that. Any praise is due to her, for giving you her
gifts.
. . . Well, go on. You've left the Prince at the banquet."
</p>
<p>"Oh, yes." Thome paused to think his way back to that portion
of the
story. I took the opportunity to move to the side of the highway so
that
I could see how far we had to go. It was still early enough in the
morning
that few carts and carriages were on the road; we'd passed only three
carts,
all of them filled with farmers too intent on their business to pay
attention
to us.
</p>
<p>But we'd receive greater scrutiny once we reached Daxis's
capital. I
might be able to hide my identity from the guards at the city wall, and
perhaps even the guards at the palace wall, but after that, someone was
sure to notice me. And then the cry, "Escaped slave!" would go up. I
felt
my stomach twist.
</p>
<p>I looked at Perry, who was casting cautious glances around at
the landscape.
Would Perry be arrested too? The danger for him was as great as for me;
all that anyone need do was hold his arm, and he would undergo torture
as harsh as any that the Prince's torturers might inflict.
</p>
<p>I could not let that happen. I would never forgive myself. I
looked
over my shoulder at the guards and soldiers behind me. They appeared to
be deep in conversation, but one of them glanced our way, ascertaining
that the prisoners were still in place. Perry could not sword-fight so
many men, and for us to try to outrun trained soldiers and guards would
be lunacy. We would not even have any money for travel; my confiscated
belt-purse carried all our coins for the journey.
</p>
<p>But to enter the guarded capital would be like entering an
execution
cell.
</p>
<p>Unaware of this, Thome said brightly, "So they were all in the
Great
Hall together, and the Prince's Bard – Baroness Eulalee, who had been
Rosetta's
apprentice – was singing a song for everyone when a man came into the
hall.
A farmer. He went immediately up to where the High Lady sat. Even
before
the Prince's Bard had stopped singing, the farmer begged refuge from
the
council, for himself and for a companion. He said the companion had
news
that she would wish to hear, but the farmer desired the High Lady's
protection
from the Prince."
</p>
<p>Thome paused at this suitably dramatic moment. As we passed
the shadow
of a haystack, Perry turned his head slightly toward the boy. I was not
surprised. Thome's tale was drawing upon all the power of the
traditional
tales of the King in his Great Hall. And this particular tale might be
true.
</p>
<p>"The High Lady waited not a moment," said Thome, beginning to
switch
to the more courtly language of mighty ballads. "She ushered her guards
forth to protect the farmer, and she sent the remaining guards of the
council
outside the hall to fetch the companion that the farmer had brought.
Everyone
waited to see whether the Prince would call up his own guards, but he
merely
frowned, looking uncertain at what this interruption portended."
</p>
<p>"Foretold," corrected Flavia quickly. "He doesn't know yet
that anything
bad is going to happen."
</p>
<p>"What this interruption foretold," Thome said. "And then the
council's
guards brought a man into the room. He was wearing the uniform of a
bottom-ranked
soldier. And when the Prince saw him, the Prince was so struck in the
heart
that he fell to the ground—"
</p>
<p>"He did not!" Flavia's outrage was clear at this bit of
embellishment.
</p>
<p>"But he could have, couldn't he?" begged Thome.
</p>
<p>"Whether or not he could have, he did not. Tell the tale the
way it
happened."
</p>
<p>Thome gave a sigh that encompassed the suffering of every bard
who is
asked to favor truth over drama. "It would be better if he fell to the
ground."
</p>
<p>"If he sat absolutely still, his face revealing nothing, that
would
be dramatic too." I could not resist offering my own suggestion on how
to shape the tale, since I knew what must have happened.
</p>
<p>Thome looked delighted. "That's exactly what he did! He sat
still, frozen
like a . . . like a . . ."
</p>
<p>"Like the heart of the Song Spirit, when facing evil men."
Flavia apparently
had a bit of a bard's fancy herself.
</p>
<p>"No, that won't do; the Song Spirit is never icy, just stern."
Showing
good taste, Thome rejected this suggestion. "I'll think up that bit
later.
Anyway, the Prince didn't do anything or say anything. The soldier was
wearing a caped cloak, and he looked nervous. He shivered with fear,"
Thome
corrected. "He went to the High Lady and knelt to her, and he began to
tell his tale. His voice was broken as he spoke, and he was so quiet
that
everyone bent forward to listen – all but the Prince, for he did not
move
so much as a finger. —That sounds good, doesn't it? Having him not move
is very dramatic." He smiled at me.
</p>
<p>"And very true," Flavia added to me. "That's just what we
heard – that
the Prince didn't move at all during the recital. Go on, boy; tell them
what the soldier said. And don't be flowery about it this time."
</p>
<p>"The soldier said that he had attended a gathering called by
the King's
Bard, and while he was there, the King had grown angry at his Bard. The
soldier wouldn't say why; he said it had to do with a song she
shouldn't
have sung, but he didn't think he should say more than that, because he
supposed it to be private matter between the King and his Bard. And so
the soldier had left the Bard's gathering, and the other guests did as
well, except for the Prince, who stayed to speak with the King. The
soldier
went back to his army tent, intending to sleep. But not long
afterwards,
an army official arrived at his tent. Subcaptain Derek. He ordered the
soldier to come with him. Well, the soldier knew that Subcaptain Derek
was a good friend to the Prince, so the soldier assumed this must have
to do with the royal gathering he had attended. He followed Subcaptain
Derek's order to accompany him into the royal forest nearby. Then
Subcaptain
Derek pointed, and when the soldier looked to see what he was pointing
at, a great, crushing pain came upon his head, and he fell— He really
did
fall," Thome assured us, apparently afraid that his earlier fancy would
mar our willingness to believe the truth when he told it.
</p>
<p>"He fell," encouraged Flavia.
</p>
<p>"He fell," said Thome. "And the last thing he heard before he
lost all
awareness was the subcaptain saying, with great satisfaction, 'That
will
fulfill my service to you, my lord Prince.' And then he knew nothing
until
he awoke in the bed of the farmer, whose young daughter had found the
soldier
lying in a country ditch, apparently dead."
</p>
<p>I glanced around and was startled to see that all of the
soldiers and
border guards were silent now, listening to Thome's tale. By this time,
they must be aware of the news themselves, but the tale did not seem to
have waned in its ability to attract an audience.
</p>
<p>Too absorbed in his service to the Song Spirit to notice this,
Thome
said, "And when the soldier had finished recalling this, he cried with
a great cry, 'I've always tried to serve you well, my lord Prince. How
did I anger you?' And then he wept."
</p>
<p>No sound, except for the soft tramp of our steps along the
highway,
the morning call of larks, and the faraway sound of a master shouting
orders
to slaves who were sowing his fields.
</p>
<p>Finally Thome spoke in a quieter voice. "And then the Prince,
he rose
from his chair. The High Lady's guards immediately turned to defend the
soldier from the Prince's anger. But the Prince did not go near the
soldier.
Instead, he went to where his Bard stood listening to the tale, her
expression
troubled. He knelt to her, and in a low voice, he made his confession
to
the Song Spirit.
</p>
<p>"He acknowledged to the Spirit, and to her children present,
that Subcaptain
Derek had tried to kill the soldier, and that the subcaptain had also
killed
all the other people present at that gathering, save the King, who had
died in battle, and the Prince himself. The Prince said that Subcaptain
Derek had received his orders from the King. The Prince would not
reveal
why the King ordered this, only saying that it was a sacred matter that
concerned the King's Bard, that his own Bard knew of this sacred
matter,
and that he was not free to speak publicly about it, any more than the
soldier was. The Prince said he tried to stop the subcaptain from
killing
the King's Bard, but the Prince also said that he had not countermanded
the order to kill the three guests to the gathering. He begged the
Spirit's
forgiveness for not protecting the guests who were attacked, and in
particular,
for not protecting one of his own soldiers. He said he regretted
bitterly
that he should have lifted his shield and allowed any soldier of his to
be attacked unjustly. And now that the King was dead, the Prince
recognized
that he should have protected Lady Felicia and the scribe as well –
that
this was his obligation as the King's heir. He asked the Spirit's
forgiveness
for that as well."
</p>
<p>I glanced again at the soldiers. They looked sober, as well
they might.
For a subcommander to conspire in the murder of one of his own soldiers
was a grave matter, even though the Prince, in his confession, had done
his best to distance himself from the full truth of what had happened.
</p>
<p>I tried to disentangle in my own mind the Prince's falsehoods
from what
had happened. It was true that my father had ordered the four deaths,
and
it was also true that the Prince had tried to stop Derek from killing
Rosetta;
I had overheard Richard discussing that matter with Derek. Perhaps it
was
even true that Richard had come to regret the attack on Captain
Verald's
orderly; I could recall the anger with which Richard had spoken earlier
that spring of how the King's battle orders caused Richard's soldiers
to
die needlessly. Whether from vanity or from a genuine desire to be a
good
army official, Richard appeared to have protective instincts where his
soldiers were concerned.
</p>
<p>But I could not help remembering how he had spoken with light
amusement
on the night of the murders about all of the deaths except Rosetta's.
It
was the same light amusement he had shown over the years, whenever he
had
ordered his friend Derek to do despicable deeds in the Prince's
service.
</p>
<p>"That will fulfill my service to you, my lord Prince." Derek's
words
were the essential truth of what had happened. And though Derek was
dead
now, killed by the Jackal, no doubt Richard would gather other men like
Derek into his service, making his regime as dark as my father's had
been.
</p>
<p>I don't know what my expression held, but Thome said
anxiously, "I wasn't
too flowery, was I?"
</p>
<p>I shook my head wordlessly. Flavia reached out to squeeze my
arm as
she told Thome, "It's a somber tale you're telling, my boy; you must
grow
used to your audience entering into such moods. Go on – tell us the
Settlement."
</p>
<p>"Oh!" Thome thought for a moment, and then said, "There really
isn't
much more to say. I'm not sure it counts as a Settlement. The Prince
rose
finally and told the people there that, due to his repentance for his
own
ill deeds, he would not request that he be made King. He would only ask
the council that he be made regent, until such time as it was clear
whether
the Song Spirit would forgive him for his momentary unwillingness to
protect
the King's subjects from injustice. And the High Lady said nothing
except,
'We do need a regent. You will serve for now.' And so he was named
regent
for the Ruler to come. Is that a Settlement?" He appealed to his
audience.
</p>
<p>The soldiers and border guards had already turned their
attention away;
I could hear them muttering their own commentary on what had happened
at
the banquet. I sighed and said, "It's not a Settlement. It's the
beginning
of the next Battle." Seeing Flavia's creased brow, I explained, "The
Prince
is buying time for himself. He's gambling that, if he serves long
enough
as regent, people will grow used to him ruling, and the council will
have
no choice but to name him as King. As long as he rules benevolently as
a Prince, the throne is his for the asking. Once he's enthroned, he'll
have the power to do whatever he wishes."
</p>
<p>"Well!" said Flavia explosively. "I never! I had no idea he
was so demonically
clever. You seem to know him very well, my dear." She squeezed my arm
again.
</p>
<p>I said nothing. I was looking at the city gates, which were
clear on
the road ahead of us. In just a few minutes, we would be inside, and
there
would be no hope for escape.
</p>
<p>I heard the pluck of notes. I turned my head, and saw that
Perry had
brought out his harp. He was playing the Song of Flight, about a maiden
who must escape from the clutches of a villain.
</p>
<p>Fortunately, none of the guards or soldiers seemed to
recognize the
significance of his choice of music, though all of the border guards
raised
their heads, expressions hopeful that they would hear Perry's singing
again.
</p>
<p>But Flavia's face held a different expression. Gripping me
tighter,
she said in my ear, "Is that you? Are you in danger?"
</p>
<p>I hesitated, but there were no other possible allies here to
help me.
I murmured, "I may be recognized in the palace and separated from my
bard.
That mustn't happen."
</p>
<p>"Certainly not." Flavia's voice was reassuringly firm, though
she kept
it to a whisper. Thome, who had been eavesdropping, nodded his
agreement.
Flavia turned her attention to Thome. "Can you sing our way into the
palace?
Distract everyone from paying any notice to your fellow bard and his
companion.
Not that I think they'll pay you any notice, my dear," she added to me.
"You're wearing a slave's outfit. You'd be surprised – well, perhaps
you
wouldn't – at how people can overlook the presence of a servant.
They'll
be looking at your bard, or more likely mine. We'll slip you inside the
palace, and then we'll figure out what to do next, to protect you."
</p>
<p>It was like being weaponless on a battlefield, and then
looking around
and discovering that I was surrounded by bodyguards. Suddenly released
from the worst of my fears, I rested my cheek on Flavia's ample
shoulder.
She patted my hand and nodded to Thome, who quickly raised his voice in
song as we approached the dangerous path that led to my cousin's
palace.
</p>
<p>As we entered the gates of the city, my last thought was: But
who will
protect Perry?
</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>"Maybe I could invent a song for the Prince," said Thome,
leafing through
the list of songs he knew. "As a present to him."
</p>
<p>Flavia turned away from the window where she and I had been
standing,
discussing the village in northern Daxis where Thome's family lived and
where Flavia had served as dry-nurse to the boy since he was old enough
to leave his wet-nurse. As her name hinted, she was of Emorian extract,
her parents having emigrated to Daxis before she was born. "And a good
thing too," she had said darkly, which had left me too miserable to ask
her what terrible incidents had caused her family to flee from Emor.
</p>
<p>Now she said, in exactly the tone that a nurse might use if
she caught
her charge nosing about in adult matters, "You're not old enough for
that
sort of thing. It takes years for bards to learn enough to invent
songs."
</p>
<p>Perry, who had been watching Thome cautiously from a corner of
the room,
plucked a string of his harp to attract my attention. Seeing the
mystification
on his face, I said, "Most of the songs that bards sing are old songs,
but the greatest bards can create songs too – 'invent' the songs, it's
called."
</p>
<p>"I might invent a passage," suggested Thome. "Just a small
passage in
a song – a phrase or two. You don't have to be a great bard to do
that."
</p>
<p>Flavia's snort conveyed what she thought of this idea. Thome
sighed
and went back to leafing through the music titles, saying, "I want to
become
a great bard. I want to become the King's Bard, so I can sing the Song
of Succession. That takes three days to sing, I've heard."
</p>
<p>"Does it?" Flavia asked me with curiosity, as I did my best
not to betray
what the words "Song of Succession" did to me. The last time I had
heard
that song, it had been shortly before its singer was murdered.
</p>
<p>"I believe so," I replied. "I've never heard the whole song,
just the
beginning portion. Rosetta said—" I stopped myself in time, amending my
statement to say, "I overheard the King's Bard say once that the song
is
a test. I suppose she meant that, if a bard could memorize a song that
took three days to sing, they were worthy to be the Royal Bard."
</p>
<p>"You see?" Thome, who was lying on his stomach on the floor,
propped
himself up onto his elbows. "Couldn't I learn that and impress the
Prince?
You could teach me, couldn't you, Serva?"
</p>
<p>I smiled. "I don't have the whole song memorized. Only the
Royal Bard
does, and her apprentice and the King. Maybe you'll win the contest and
become Baroness Eulalee's apprentice."
</p>
<p>Flavia gave another snort, but I thought her expression this
time was
filled with pride in the abilities of her charge.
</p>
<p>It was odd, I thought – as Perry ventured out of his corner to
listen
to Thome hum snatches of song – how the four of us had become
co-conspirators
in such a short time. This was an unusual experience for me. Growing up
in the palace with a father of changeable temperaments and a cousin who
was sly and ruthless, I had trusted only two people: Rosetta the King's
Bard, who had not told anyone that I secretly visited her, and Sandy
the
dungeon-keeper, who had likewise kept secret my visits to see him and
the
prisoners in the dungeon. By the end of my time in the palace, both
those
connections had been cut.
</p>
<p>Rosetta had been cruelly murdered. As for Sandy, I had not
spoken with
him for years, since the time that I helped a certain spy escape from
his
dungeon. I felt a sudden wave of homesickness hit me. I would not have
thought that possible, but I had spent my entire life in this palace,
and
now I was travelling to an alien land filled with men who were renowned
for their harshness to their slaves and their women, and who had no
more
appreciation of the Spirit's music than the Koretians did. It was as
though
I had decided to walk into a room that was absolutely silent and
imprison
myself there.
</p>
<p>As though he had heard my thoughts, Thome said, "I could sing
the Song
of the Disobedient Ruler."
</p>
<p>"Don't you dare!" cried Flavia, roused into high danger.
</p>
<p>Thome simply laughed and began singing the song lightly. Perry
took
another cautious step forward. Noticing this, Thome raised his voice so
that Perry could clearly hear the words.
</p>
<p>Flavia shook her head, turning back to the window. "That boy
will be
the death of me."
</p>
<p>"He's very talented," I said, looking out the window. All of
the bards
and their servants had been crammed into the guest quarters at the top
of the palace – a convenient place to keep us all prisoners. I had not
even dared leave the room, lest I be recognized. Although the Prince
must
believe that I remained under the Jackal's roof, I was still in great
danger
here, in a palace where so many people had known me.
</p>
<p>After due consideration of the dangers of revealing too much,
I had
told Flavia and Thome that I was a former palace slave who had escaped
after an unfortunate encounter with the Prince. Immediately
sympathetic,
the two of them had taken over the work of seeing that the meals and
other
supplies for Perry and me were delivered properly, and that the two of
us were never forced to leave the rooms that we shared with Thome and
Flavia.
</p>
<p>Though we would have to eventually.
</p>
<p>"He's very shy, that bard of yours," Flavia said in an
undertone beneath
Thome's singing. "Is it more than those vows he made not to speak or be
touched?"
</p>
<p>I nodded. "He was hurt when he was a boy."
</p>
<p>"I can see that." Again, Flavia's voice was sympathetic. "He's
a nice
young man, though. He has held a door open for me, more than once,
which
isn't the sort of behavior I'm used to from bards. Most of them treat
me
like dirt. Not Thome, of course," she added, pride once more in her
voice.
"He's well brought up. I saw to that. But the unkindness that other
bards
will show toward me, just because I'm a free-servant— Well, you'll have
encountered that yourself, and worse, being a slave. Is there any hope
he'll free you?" This question was asked in a whisper.
</p>
<p>I hesitated, but whispered back, "I'm actually already free.
Perry is
from Koretia; they don't have slaves there. We came back to Daxis
because
the master that Perry works for was worried that I wouldn't be safe in
his house from the Prince. He thought I would be safer in Emor. That's
where we plan to go."
</p>
<p>"The Prince wants you that much?" Flavia was suitably
horrified at this
tale. "Well, don't you worry, my dear; Thome and I will keep you well
hidden
on the day of the contest. We won't let the Prince catch so much as a
glimpse
of you."
</p>
<p>"But what about Perry?" I glanced his way. Perry was now
crouched on
the floor near Thome, playing an accompaniment to Thome's song. "He has
such limitations upon him. He can't even sing without being instructed
to. I don't suppose you know whether the Prince plans to tell the bards
which songs to sing."
</p>
<p>Flavia shook her head. "Dear, I know as little as you do about
the contest.
The very idea of snatching up bards and forcing them to sing . . .
Well,
that tells me right there what sort of ruler the Prince is. I'm not at
all surprised you left his palace. And what with Perry being Koretian,
when we're at war with Koretia . . . We'll have to work together to
protect
him. I suppose it's a mercy he doesn't speak, or his Koretian accent
would
identify him."
</p>
<p>Perry's Daxion accent was perfect, of course. Everything he
memorized
was perfect. I looked over my shoulder again. Perry was beginning to
sing
the song softly, every word safe now in his memory, after only a single
singing by Thome. The boy looked suitably enthralled at witnessing this
trick.
</p>
<p>"He's a treasure," I murmured. "A most wonderful treasure. And
his master
would be terribly upset if Perry were harmed."
</p>
<p>Flavia squeezed my arm. "Now, don't you worry, dear. Between
the four
of us, I'm sure we can find a way to get through that contest. I have
only
one worry," she confessed with a sigh.
</p>
<p>"Oh?" After a final glance, I turned my back on the window,
which looked
out upon the army encampment where Richard worked, the forest where
Richard
and I had played as children, and the mountain that led back to
Koretia.
</p>
<p>"What if that blasted boy of mine wins the contest?" Flavia
asked with
exasperation.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I was forced to admit that the Prince had good taste where
festival
celebrations were concerned.
</p>
<p>I'd heard for years about the victory celebrations that
Richard held
for his soldiers – every year, because that was how often he was forced
to put down rebellions against the King. None of these tales, however,
had prepared me for sight of the transformation of the palace's Great
Hall.
</p>
<p>Bright Arpeshian banners streamed down from the rafters, each
bearing
the lyrics of famous Daxion songs. Bards on the balcony above the dais
led the guests in renditions of old favorites. Down a middle aisle
between
the guests, jugglers and fire-breathers from southeastern Daxis
entertained
everyone. Servants passed out mugs of hot cider from the royal
orchards,
as well as flavor-filled pastries that I had never tasted before, but
which
a free-servant explained were from the northern border of Daxis, where
our land's oldest cooking traditions were preserved.
</p>
<p>The servant made her explanation to Flavia and Thome, who were
successfully
screening me from the Prince on the dais. As Thome passed back one of
the
pastries to me, he whispered, "The Prince is very well guarded."
</p>
<p>I had already noticed that. Although Flavia's bulk blocked my
view of
the seated Prince, I could see the pair of soldiers standing at his
sides.
They wore the metal masks that the Prince had designed for battle a
couple
of years before, though these were masks were quite different from the
Koretian god-masks, being hinged so that they could swing up when the
soldier
needed better vision of his enemy. The masks gave the men flanking the
Prince the appearance of being executioners rather than bodyguards,
which
may have been the effect that the Prince was aiming toward. Certainly
their
heads moved to and fro, obviously seeking out enemies in the crowd. I
kept
myself as tightly nestled behind Flavia as I could.
</p>
<p>But I could not stop myself from peeking out when the singing
ended
and the Prince rose to speak. As always, he was a good speaker,
charming
and seemingly generous. He thanked his audience for coming, offering
compliments
to the bards and their companions, including the ones he'd kidnapped.
He
offered commentary on the singing of the bards in the balcony that was
stunning for its insight into the complex nature of Daxion music. He
expressed
due humility for being permitted to attend such a gathering, despite
his
past ill deeds. . . . I could just see the High Lady sitting at the far
end of the dais; her mouth tightened at this portion of the speech.
</p>
<p>Now came forward Baroness Eulalee, dressed in an ethereal gown
that
made her look like one of the Song Spirit's attendants. Unfortunately,
it did not make her look like a bard; she fumbled trying to unhook her
harp from where it had snagged upon her gown. A titter ran through the
crowd. From where I stood, I could see Eulalee biting her lip.
</p>
<p>"Allow me," said a voice, and suddenly the Prince was there,
disentangling
the mess with a graceful gesture of courtesy. Eulalee looked up, her
face
nakedly grateful. Richard paused to give her a light kiss before
returning
to his dais.
</p>
<p>A murmur rushed through the crowd at this apparent
confirmation of the
rumors that the Prince aimed to make his Bard into his Consort. Flavia
confined herself to saying, "Spirit of Merciful Peace!" but others
around
us had a good deal more to say at this departure from tradition. I
glimpsed
again the Prince as he returned to the seat; his expression was closed,
revealing nothing.
</p>
<p>Finally the crowd settled down again. The high-ranked guests
had been
given elevated seats along the walls, but the low-ranked guests, as
well
as the bards and their servants, were required to stand. I shifted my
sore
feet impatiently as Eulalee sang the beginning portion of the Song of
Succession.
If the Prince had his way, I guessed, Eulalee would sing his Song of
Succession
at his enthronement, would give him whatever songs she thought he would
like in court, and would keep meekly quiet everywhere else. I liked
Eulalee,
a shy woman who had always treated me kindly, but she was not made of
the
stern stuff from which Royal Bards were meant to be made, much less
Consorts.
</p>
<p>There was polite applause at the end of her singing, led with
enthusiasm
by the Prince. I wondered what he saw in her. One thing I had never
doubted
of Richard, since our days together in the royal nursery, was that he
loved
music. Eulalee's renditions weren't insipid, but they were light fare
compared
to what Richard could hear from other bards in the land.
</p>
<p>But on this day, at least, he would hear more substantial
singing. One
by one, the bards who had been brought here, or who had come here of
their
own free will, stepped forward to sing before the Prince and his Bard.
If I had not been so worried, it would have been the pleasantest day of
my life, for here in this hall sang some of the sweetest fruit of the
Spirit's
womb: the Daxion bards, famed throughout the world.
</p>
<p>When Thome came forward, the hall was utterly still, listening
to his
notes soar high into the rafters. I glimpsed the Prince leaning back in
his chair, his eyes closed as he devoted his full attention to the
singing.
Beside him, Eulalee looked rapt, as well she might.
</p>
<p>I glanced behind me. Flavia, Thome, and I had managed to
shield a small
corner where Perry could hide in a desperate, unsuccessful effort to
pretend
he wasn't surrounded by dozens of strangers. His breath was so rapid
that
I wondered that he hadn't already fainted. But his gaze was fixed upon
Thome, who clearly was now the favorite in this contest before the
Prince.
I wondered whether Perry was worried about his own performance.
</p>
<p>My only worry was that Perry's performance would be as good as
it always
was. We couldn't afford that sort of attention. But I would sooner have
flung myself into the Prince's arms than suggest to one of the Song
Spirit's
bards that he should perform less well than he could. I turned my
attention
back to Thome.
</p>
<p>He had reached the end of the song, on a note so high that I
wouldn't
have been surprised if the crystal goblet that the Prince was drinking
from had cracked. The applause that followed nearly brought down the
rafters.
Beaming, Thome ran back to Flavia's waiting arms. I quickly stepped
behind
Flavia and ducked my head, hoping that nobody would notice me. In
addition
to the Prince, there must be dozens of servants and palace officials
here
who could recognize me.
</p>
<p>Already the herald was calling for the final singer. It was
Perry. Flavia
and Thome vigorously shooed away their neighbors so that a path lay
open
that Perry could walk through. With one last, anxious look at me, Perry
came forward.
</p>
<p>Most of the bards had worn bright colors to this celebration,
but Perry
was still wearing the grey tunic he wore as a spy, designed to deflect
attention rather than attract it. It took a bit of time for the guests
to even realize he was there. He spent that time looking down at his
harp,
pretending to tune it, though he had spent hours the previous day
ensuring
that the notes were just right.
</p>
<p>Nobody was looking my way now. Peering around Flavia, I stared
up at
the dais. Richard was in quiet conversation with Eulalee, doubtlessly
about
Thome's singing. Lady Elizabeth was taking a moment to speak to a
free-servant
who was serving her: Paula, who had helped me to escape the palace.
There
was a flurry of motion behind her that might have been slaves I knew:
Emil
and Maura and Pernella. But on this high occasion, Lady Elizabeth's
slaves
were being kept well out of sight. I wondered suddenly whether my
father
would have kept me out of sight at a celebration like this, or whether,
on one of his whims, he would have invited me here.
</p>
<p>I felt the sharp pain I had felt ever since I fully realized
the extent
of my father's villainy, overlaid by the grief I had begun to feel for
his death. My father had been a bad King, and he had placed my life in
danger through his actions, but he had loved me dearly, and I had loved
him in turn. I couldn't erase that.
</p>
<p>A light lilt of notes arrested my thoughts. Looking, I saw
that Perry
was staring toward me. He quickly looked away, but not before I
recognized
what he was doing. Unable to bring himself to sing without instruction,
he was instead playing a wordless melody to cheer me: a comforting
tune,
such as might be played for a sick person in her bed.
</p>
<p>Perry's newly learned harp-playing, while good, was not as
extraordinary
as his singing. I felt myself relax. Though I was sorry that Perry's
limitations
prevented him from singing to this gathering, it seemed more and more
likely
now that we would escape unharmed.
</p>
<p>Or so I thought, till I looked in the direction of the Prince.
</p>
<p>His eyes weren't closed this time: instead he was frowning,
leaning
forward, as though he sensed that something was missing. It occurred to
me then that Perry was the first bard who had chosen not to sing. The
ability
to sing well was part of the requirement of being the King's Bard; by
deliberately
not choosing to sing, Perry had withdrawn himself from the audition.
Which
– I realized with sinking heart – the Prince might treat as a slap in
the
face.
</p>
<p>Perry's notes were dying now. He had not reached the end of
the song,
but the Prince's displeasure was apparently clear to him, if not to the
remainder of the audience. The Prince leaned over and said something to
Eulalee, who nodded. She was staring at Perry, appearing puzzled.
</p>
<p>The Prince rose to his feet as the final notes were sounded,
before
anyone had a chance to applaud. "We have heard some of the finest bards
in this land today," he announced. "But the baroness and I are agreed
that
the last two bards are the finest. In order to break a tie, I will ask
the bard Thome and the bard Perry to sing yet another song. Bard Perry,
since you are already standing here, I will start with you. I will do
so" – he paused delicately – "in the manner of the King's Court."
</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>I was not the only one who gasped. The entire audience drew in
their
breaths. It was not a claim of kinghood – not quite. But it was an
experiment
such as had never before taken place in the history of Daxis.
</p>
<p>Only one person in Daxis – the King or Queen – had the right
and duty
to lay a hand upon a bard's shoulder and bid the bard to sing a
particular
song. We lesser mortals might request a song, but the Ruler alone could
command a bard. If Richard passed this test – if he successfully bid
one
of the Song Spirit's bards to sing a song of Richard's own choosing –
then
he would be armed with the evidence he needed that he was my father's
true
successor.
</p>
<p>Perry looked as panic-stricken as I had ever seen him. I knew
he was
not worried about the political implications of what was taking place;
Perry rarely spoke on the topic of politics. Rather, he was thinking of
a danger that had not occurred to the Prince or anyone else here except
for me and Flavia and Thome: he was about to be touched by another
person.
</p>
<p>Thome suddenly darted over to where Perry stood trembling. He
leaned
over and said something in Perry's ear. After a moment, Perry nodded.
His
grip was still tight on his harp, but he no longer looked as though he
were about to flee out of the hall.
</p>
<p>"What did you tell him?" asked Flavia as Thome returned.
</p>
<p>"That it won't hurt." Then, facing Flavia's skeptical look,
Thome protested,
"But it won't, will it? If he's the King, he can't harm a bard by
bidding
him to do the Spirit's wish."
</p>
<p>Flavia glanced back at me, her expression troubled. I tried to
think.
It was true that, on the first occasion when Perry sang, he had done so
after I had touched him and bid him sing. I had possessed sense enough
never to try to do that again, but on that occasion, at least, he had
not
been hurt by being touched.
</p>
<p>Perhaps it was because I was the King's daughter? I could not
inherit
the throne, since my parents were never married by law – that fact had
been driven into me at an early age. But still, perhaps I had inherited
at least a little of my father's sacred power, enough to start Perry on
his path to be a bard.
</p>
<p>And Richard? He was my father's lawful, chosen heir. He was
not yet
confirmed by the council, but if the Song Spirit had passed her power
into
him, that fact would manifest itself the moment he bid a bard to sing.
If Richard was indeed my father's rightful successor, Perry would not
be
hurt—
</p>
<p>Perry jerked back, hissing in pain.
</p>
<p>I had missed the moment when the Prince came down from the
dais and
laid his hand upon Perry's shoulder. I craned my neck, looking around
Flavia.
Richard was frowning as he stared at Perry, but he made no attempt to
touch
him a second time. All around us, people whispered at this apparent
sign
of displeasure from the Song Spirit.
</p>
<p>Thome emitted an impatient noise and darted forward again. The
Prince's
masked soldiers had accompanied him down from the dais, but they did
not
try to bar the path of the boy bard. Thome went up onto his toes and
said
something to Richard.
</p>
<p>The Prince's expression relaxed immediately. He nodded, patted
Thome
on the back as the boy retreated, and raised his voice over the
whispers.
"I am told," the Prince said, "that the bard Perry has taken a vow not
to speak or be touched, except in the Song Spirit's service. Evidently
the Spirit has not yet bid him to enter her service in that respect.
The
Spirit of Songs is patient; so must her representatives be. I will not
grab impatiently, as a frantic child would; I will wait until she sends
her sign that she wishes my own service."
</p>
<p>The hall was quiet now. My jaw hung open; I was in awe of
Richard's
ability to turn a clear sign of his unworthiness to the title of King
into
a sign sent by the Spirit to show that he would eventually be worthy.
Truly,
the Prince's powers to seduce had increased since last we met.
</p>
<p>He continued, "Only a great bard would take so hard a
discipline upon
himself. I therefore request – not command – that the bard Perry sing
what
the Song Spirit wishes him to sing." Richard stepped back, tacitly
ceding
the audience's attention to Perry.
</p>
<p>Perry had gone down on one knee during this speech, which
looked properly
respectful, but which I suspected was merely his attempt to make
himself
as small as possible in front of this looming danger. Now he thrummed
his
strings, and I prepared myself to listen to another of his wordless
songs.
</p>
<p>Instead, he sang the Song of the Disobedient Ruler.
</p>
<p>It was the song I had overheard Thome teach him. It was a
brief song
of a ruler who disobeyed the Song Spirit, believing that the ruler, not
the Spirit, knew what was best for the Daxion people. All seemed well
until
one morning when the ruler awoke and found that the world was silent.
The
ruler had gone deaf; never again would the ruler receive the comfort of
the Spirit's music.
</p>
<p>It was a terrible, shocking song. In the context of this
gathering,
it was like unveiling a gallows tree and bidding the Prince to place
his
neck in the noose. The audience had gone entirely silent. Not a single
servant moved from their place. Eulalee looked as though she was about
to pass out.
</p>
<p>And the Prince . . . the Prince was looking at me.
</p>
<p>I suppose at first he might have glanced at Thome, who twice
now had
directed the course of events in a manner that left the Prince
vulnerable
to danger. But I had foolishly left behind the protection of Flavia's
body
in order to gape at the proceedings. Now Richard's gaze was on me, and
it was dark with rage.
</p>
<p>He did not interrupt the singing, though. Instead, he
beckoned. One
of the masked soldiers next to him leaned over. The Prince quietly gave
instructions.
</p>
<p>Perry broke off his singing with a horrible choke. He had
noticed that
the Prince was no longer listening to him. He quivered for a moment in
his kneeling position; then he stood, turned about, and ran from the
hall.
</p>
<p>I was at his heels. I had seen the soldiers begin to come
toward me.
</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>Perry had left by way of the servants' side entrance. I did
the same,
ignoring the slaves and free-servants gaping at me as I made my flight.
None of them tried to stop me; I supposed they were still absorbing the
fact that, after making the only successful escape any Daxion palace
slave
had ever made, I had unexpectedly returned.
</p>
<p>Perry was waiting for me, halfway down the corridor. At first,
I was
ready to wave him on; he was a better runner than I was. Then I
realized
he didn't know where to go.
</p>
<p>I looked around rapidly. We stood in the corridor that ran
parallel
with the length of the Great Hall. If we returned north, toward the
dais
end of the hall, we would eventually reach the hidden passage that had
served as my refuge during so much of my childhood. That passage led to
the outside. . . .
</p>
<p>But I could hear the soldiers coming from that direction,
their metal
masks clanking as they ran. Resisting the instinctive impulse to grasp
Perry's hand, I turned and ran in the opposite direction. Perry ran
alongside
me. The corridor we were running down met with the long gallery, and at
the end of the long gallery lay the main doors into the palace. Those
doors
were normally heavily guarded, but if we could somehow get past the
guards.
. . .
</p>
<p>There were shouts ahead of us: orders. Around the corner we
were approaching,
the guards to the main door had just been ordered to search behind the
curtains of the long gallery for us.
</p>
<p>I stopped, and Perry's boots screeched to a halt. His eyes
were so wide
that he looked like a colt that is on the point of bolting. I looked
around
frantically. All that I could see was the stone staircase that led to
the
dungeon. Somewhere down there was Sandy, who might give us refuge.
</p>
<p>But it was too late. One of the masked soldiers had reached
us. I expected
Perry to retreat; instead, he stepped forward, pulling his sword from
its
sheath.
</p>
<p>I remembered then: Perry was under the Jackal's orders to
protect me.
</p>
<p>Not surprisingly, the masked soldier slowed to a halt.
Somewhere along
the way he had lost his companion; no doubt he was hesitant to
immediately
launch into battle with an opponent of unknown blade-skills. Apparently
desiring to scrutinize Perry, the soldier raised his mask.
</p>
<p>"Sandy!" As I spoke, I launched myself toward the man with the
mask.
</p>
<p>He caught me and held me in his arms. "Princess, what are you
doing
here?" he asked in an urgent manner. "Don't you realize that the Prince
is seeking you?"
</p>
<p>I turned my gaze toward Perry. He had cautiously come forward,
sheathing
his sword. I had mentioned Sandy to him on the previous month – in
passing,
but of course Perry remembered even passing remarks. He was giving
Sandy
the same cautious look he had once given me: of someone who was not yet
trusted, but who was a friend of his friend, and was therefore unlikely
to be an active danger.
</p>
<p>"Sandy, we need to escape here," I said rapidly, this being no
time
for explanations. "There's a place back there, from where you came,
that
we can use to escape—"
</p>
<p>"The hidden passage?" Sandy gave a soft laugh at my
expression. "Princess,
you visited me in my dungeon every week for years. Did you think I
wouldn't
figure out how you reached me? No, you can't go that way; I sent the
other
guard to search that portion of the corridor. Down here, the first cell
– quickly, now!"
</p>
<p>As he spoke, he tossed a set of keys into my hands: the
dungeon's keys,
all of them. Perry, hearing the approaching guards from the long
gallery,
had already begun to edge toward the spiralling stairway to the
dungeon.
I joined him, fleeing down the steps as Sandy raised his voice to
assure
the arriving guards that there was no sign of us here.
</p>
<p>The first cell at the bottom of the steps . . . We managed to
reach
it before the dungeon's patrolling guards sighted us. It was Perry who
found the right key on the ring to shut us in. Then we squeezed
ourselves
as far away from the door as we could, each into our own corner. We
could
hear the guards spilling down into the dungeon.
</p>
<p>Someone rattled our cell door. It stayed closed. Outside,
Sandy was
saying, "No, I don't have my keys on me; why should I carry such heavy
things on me when I'm on ceremonial guard duty? Check the open cells;
those
are the only cells they could have hidden themselves in."
</p>
<p>The search took a long time; Perry and I spent it squeezed
into our
corners, both of us drenched in sweat. By the time the search was
through,
the sun had begun to dip toward the horizon, and the cell was growing
grey
with dusk-light.
</p>
<p>As the last of the searchers retreated up the stairs, I pulled
myself
out of my corner. My body was aching, and I was beginning to shake from
reaction to what had taken place. Perry took a step forward, looking
around.
</p>
<p>"What is it?" I whispered.
</p>
<p>He whispered back, "Was this the cell?"
</p>
<p>Once I realized what he was referring to, I shook my head.
"No," I whispered.
"Andrew was kept in a different cell when he was imprisoned here. But
we
stopped here briefly, when I was helping Andrew escape," I added,
remembering.
"Sandy had us hide in here, when Andrew was about to be seen." Sandy
had
not done so willingly, but I could see Perry relaxing at this sign that
Sandy was indeed not the enemy.
</p>
<p>Sandy arrived soon afterwards. "The Prince has called off the
palace
search," he reported. "He has sent his soldiers into the city to try to
find you. You'll have to wait for nightfall to leave."
</p>
<p>"Oh, Sandy, it's so good to see you." I hugged him again.
"This is Perry.
He's—" I hesitated, not knowing how to introduce him.
</p>
<p>"Your bard. Yes, I heard him sing." The admiration was clear
in Sandy's
voice. "But we must get you out of here; I can't hide you here forever.
Why did you come back?"
</p>
<p>I explained. It was like old times again; Sandy had been like
family
to me since my childhood, when I began sneaking down to the dungeon. I
knew that he would sooner die than betray me.
</p>
<p>"The border guards took my belt-purse with all our money," I
finished
by saying. "We can't reach Emor without it. Do you have any notion
where
they might have hidden it?"
</p>
<p>Sandy was shaking his head, but he said, "Wait here. I'll be
back soon."
</p>
<p>We waited. The cell turned black and cold. Nearby, Daxion
prisoners
sang songs of release from captivity. Faintly through the window came
the
sound of Eulalee, singing for the Prince's dinner in the Great Hall.
Perry
and I remained silent, listening to the songs.
</p>
<p>Finally, Sandy returned, holding a lantern, two cloaks, and a
purse
heavy with coins. He placed the cloaks and purse in my hands.
</p>
<p>"You can take two horses from the stable," he said. "I'll
guide you
there and give you passes for the palace gates and the city gates. Be
sure
to keep your faces well hidden within your hoods. The soldiers will be
looking for a man and woman together, on foot. If you and your bard
ride
out separately and then meet again in the countryside, the soldiers
will
never guess that they've let past the fugitives that the Prince is
seeking."
</p>
<p>I was staring at the purse. "Sandy, you only own one horse.
And where
did this purse come from? It's not ours."
</p>
<p>And then, suddenly, I knew. I had seen this purse many years
ago, when
Sandy showed it to me and told me of his dreams.
</p>
<p>I stared up at him. "This is yours," I said in a hushed voice.
"The
money you've been saving for years, so that you can retire in comfort
when
you grow too old to work. And the horse . . . Did you spend part of
this
money to buy us a second horse?"
</p>
<p>He did not deny what he had done, instead gathering me into
his arms.
"Princess," he said hoarsely, "I don't know why the Prince wants to
take
you captive, and I don't care. My wife died many years ago, and we had
no children or grandchildren. You're the closest I have to family. If I
were to retire in comfort in a few years, knowing that I could have
spent
that money to help you to safety, what peace do you think I would
receive
in my old age?"
</p>
<p>I buried my face against his chest, saying, "I'll find a way
to pay
you back, Sandy. I swear I will. But if the Prince finds out what
you've
done—"
</p>
<p>"Just take care of yourself, Princess," Sandy said softly.
"I'm not
the only one in this palace who will weep if you die."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Below us, in the dawn's light, a man and woman stared into
each other's
eyes. The man's hands rested on the woman's shoulders, as though he
were
a King pleading with his Bard to sing. With passion, he sang to her his
Marriage Song. I blinked away tears.
</p>
<p>We were standing on a corner balcony of the courtyard of an
inn. This
was one of the oldest inns in the capital region of Daxis, built only a
few centuries after the founding of the kingdom. The inn was shaped in
the traditional style, with a square courtyard surrounded on one side
by
the singing hall and on the other three sides by guestrooms. Our
guestroom,
where we planned to sleep that day, led onto this balcony. All of the
inn's
overnight guests were in the courtyard below, joining the guests
invited
to the wedding. Inns were a popular place for weddings, since inns
guaranteed
a large audience for the ceremony.
</p>
<p>I wiped away another tear, telling myself with futile fury
that I was
only weeping because two months before I had rejected the Prince's
Marriage
Song, after my father tried to force us to marry. At that time, the
Prince
had seemed surprisingly ready to marry me in the Spirit – that is,
without
witnesses – as a way to prevent me from marrying a potential rival for
his throne. Now, with my protective father dead, the Prince had other
options
for how to end the threat I posed to him.
</p>
<p>I looked down at my right thigh. I could see the bulge in my
tunic that
represented the gold coins Sandy had given me, which I had managed to
stuff
into the thigh-pocket I was wearing. The bulge was considerably less
than
it had been at the start of our journey, three days before. Inns, I was
learning to my dismay, were expensive to stay in; so was feed for the
horses
and food for ourselves. Having lived my life as a moneyless slave, I
had
never before appreciated how much money it must take to run a palace.
</p>
<p>If we were frugal – if we stayed only at the poorer inns from
now on
– I thought it likely we could make the money last till we reached the
Chara's palace. Perry, drawing upon his prodigious memory, had drawn a
map for me of the route we needed to take in order to reach the Emorian
palace. First we would travel alongside the eastern border of Daxis,
where
a line of mountains separates Daxis from its eastern neighbor, Koretia.
Then we would cross the tiny border between Daxis and Emor. After that,
we would journey straight east to the Emorian capital. On the map, it
did
not look far.
</p>
<p>Perry thought it would take at least three weeks for us to
reach Emor.
It would take a month if we had gone by way of Koretia's winding roads,
he assured me, explaining that this was why the Jackal had chosen the
Daxion
route for us. The Jackal had not told him the real reason that we were
taking this route: to allow Perry to exercise his newfound talent.
</p>
<p>So far, since we left the Daxion palace, Perry had not tried
to sing.
There really had been no opportunity for him to do so; for his sake and
to avoid any search parties, we had been travelling at night and
sleeping
in the daytime. That was reason enough for Perry not to sing, but I
could
not help but remember how Perry had ended his song to the Prince with a
choke.
</p>
<p>A second voice, high and sweet, joined itself to the low voice
of the
man singing, as the bride placed her hands upon her groom's shoulders
and
joined her song with his. There was an audible sigh of satisfaction at
this traditional blending of high and low, female and male, which was
intended
to represent the different ranges of the Song Spirit. My tears
forgotten,
I propped my elbow upon the wooden railing of the balcony and rested my
chin on my fist. I had never thought much during my life about the
implications
of the Marriage Song – of how it placed expectations upon both the
bride
and groom. It was not a matter of the man taking charge and the woman
submitting,
but a foreigner listening to the song might be forgiven for thinking
that,
particularly when they reached the submission section. . . .
</p>
<p>"Six parts," Perry murmured.
</p>
<p>I could just barely hear him as applause thundered at the end
of the
song. Hastily, I picked up the bucket of flower petals that had been
handed
to us by the innkeeper when we arrived; I joined the guests below in
throwing
petals onto the married couple. "Six parts?" I said absentmindedly.
</p>
<p>"The song had six parts," Perry explained. "Not five, like the
ones
I've heard before."
</p>
<p>I might have known – I reflected ruefully as I set down the
empty pail
– that Perry's mind would not be on money or our journey or the couple
below, beginning their new life. It had become clear to me during my
acquaintance
with him that Perry's life, until recently, revolved quite narrowly
around
his friends – around the Jackal in particular, since he was Perry's
closest
companion. If the Jackal cared about something, Perry made an effort to
care about it too. It was a mercy that John had proved to be one of the
few Koretians with an ear for music; otherwise, I suspected, Perry
would
have dropped music like a useless clot of mud.
</p>
<p>Perry would never live the life of an ordinary man, marrying
and begetting
children. Fortunately, given his circumstances, he had shown no
interest
in such a life, perhaps taking his cue here from the unmarried Jackal.
But now Perry had found a new interest, one that went beyond his life
with
the Jackal. And the question was: How far would he pursue that
interest?
</p>
<p>I cast my mind back to nursery lessons and said, "Most songs
have only
five parts. But the three oldest songs – the Marriage Song, the Song of
Succession, and the Tale of the Song Twins, which all share the same
tune
– have six parts."
</p>
<p>"What are the parts?" As he spoke, Perry ventured out of the
shadows
where he had been standing, in the doorway to their room. I glanced
quickly
around, but nobody was in the other balconies; all the guests remained
in the courtyard below, absorbed in the drama, for the bride and groom
were ending their Marriage Song in a traditional manner, to much
applause.
</p>
<p>"They're kissing for a long time," Perry observed softly,
glancing over
the rail.
</p>
<p>"In the old days, I've heard, they would have consummated
their marriage
immediately, in front of the guests."
</p>
<p>Perry laughed, covering his mouth to smother the sound. He had
placed
himself so that the burnt side of his face was toward me, which I knew
to be a sign of trust. There was a time when I would have recoiled in
horror
at seeing the mangled, eyeless side of his face. Now I only wished that
I could put a friendly arm around Perry's back.
</p>
<p>Instead, I said, "There are five parts to most songs. The
first part
is called the Adversaries. It tells who the main character is, and who
the character is fighting against. Then comes the Challenge, which
describes
what the conflict will be. The Stakes tells what is at stake in the
conflict.
The Battle is where the conflict takes place. And the Settlement is
where
the battle is ended."
</p>
<p>"And the sixth part," Perry said slowly, "is called the
Sacrifice?"
</p>
<p>I cocked my head at him, wishing I could see the expression on
the right
side of his face. "No, it's called the Surrender. It's the same idea as
sacrifice, though. The main character, having won victory, offers an
unexpected
surrender. It flips the song, so that the defeated person becomes the
victor.
. . . How did you know that the last portion of the oldest songs was
about
surrendering?"
</p>
<p>"Emor's oldest laws have six parts," said Perry. "So do
Koretia's oldest
laws. The sixth part—"
</p>
<p>I didn't hear what he said next, for at that moment something
caught
my eye.
</p>
<p>It was a flicker of movement. While we had been standing
there, chatting
about music, the bride and groom had finally broken apart from their
prolonged
kiss. The bride had sung a snatch of her Marriage Song with her high
voice.
The groom had responded in his low voice with his own snatch of the
Marriage
Song. Everyone listening had shouted with approval.
</p>
<p>Except one man. A man who had been standing in the shadows, in
the corner
of the courtyard directly opposite our balcony, moved restlessly. I
felt
something creep over my spine.
</p>
<p>"Perry," I said, pointing, but even as I spoke, the man turned
away
and slipped through a doorway. I caught a glimpse again of the scarred
hand, and next to it a battered sheath hiding a blade.
</p>
<p>Nobody in Daxis wears weapons in town – nobody except
soldiers.
</p>
<p>Perry was already gesturing me back into the room. I went, my
heart
aflutter, my mind racing ahead. If the soldier had been watching us –
if
he was seeking us – then he would need to travel to the other side of
the
inn to reach us. And when he did . . .
</p>
<p>Perry was already tossing our belongings into our new
travelling pack.
I helped him, and then we were running down the stairs to the entrance
of the inn.
</p>
<p>No one stood there; the innkeeper had evidently gone into the
courtyard
to join the festivities. The door nearby led to the inn's hall, but
that
door was closed.
</p>
<p>Perry had his back against the wall next to the entrance door;
he was
leaning cautiously forward, looking outside. What he saw evidently
reassured
him, for he gestured to me again. We ran toward the inn stable, where
we
had paid the stable-boy to watch over our horses.
</p>
<p>The stable-boy was asleep; beside him was an empty flask of
the cider
from the wedding. Our horses were gone.
</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>No time to figure out whether our horses had been taken by the
soldier
or by thieves; in an instant, Perry had turned on his heel, and I was
racing
behind him as he darted through the town.
</p>
<p>We were in eastern Daxis, which was a way of saying that we
were in
a town. Here, alongside the border to Koretia, were Daxis's oldest
settlements.
As Emor's High Lord had cruelly commented during his visit to the
Daxion
palace that spring, the Daxions had left not so much as a blade of
grass
to grow in the towns. The houses, built of stone, blended together like
rocks from a hillside. All that was left, aside from the broad highways
that linked the towns together, were narrow alleyways that twisted and
turned.
</p>
<p>And so we twisted and turned, Perry threading our way like a
master
weaver, as he sought to break us out of the soldier's trap.
</p>
<p>In the end, we were forced to halt from sheer exhaustion.
Perry gestured
us into what proved to be a public latrine for men. Fortunately, the
hour
was barely past dawn; nobody was inside.
</p>
<p>After glancing curiously around – I had never before entered a
room
designed for men – I whispered, "Are we safe?"
</p>
<p>Perry's only reply was, "I'm sorry. I should have seen the
soldier when
he arrived."
</p>
<p>It was just like Perry to take on the burden of failure. I
said, "Perhaps
he was one of the Prince's spies. They're skilled at hiding
themselves."
</p>
<p>Perry didn't say anything. He was frowning, his brow creasing
in concentration.
</p>
<p>"Did you recognize him?" I asked.
</p>
<p>"I'm not sure."
</p>
<p>This quite reasonable answer left me agape. I finally said,
"But your
memory—"
</p>
<p>"That's the way my memory works. I have to know <i>when</i>
something
occurred to <i>see</i> it occur."
</p>
<p>During the pause that followed, I remembered conversations we
had held
before about his memory. Always, when Perry remembered something from
the
past, it had not so much been a case of him remembering the past as
being
part of the past: his mind had been plunged backwards in time, reliving
what had taken place then. I had not realized till now what limitations
that placed upon Perry.
</p>
<p>"Well," I said, "we can start by moving backwards a day. Do
you remember
seeing him at the last inn where we stayed?"
</p>
<p>There was a long pause, punctuated only by the rush of water
under the
stone latrines nearby. I waited, realizing that Perry was spending this
time reliving what had happened then.
</p>
<p>The sun had climbed considerably higher in the sky by the time
that
Perry hitched in his breath and said, "There he is."
</p>
<p>I nearly took off running before I realized that Perry was
still in
the past. "Where?" I asked.
</p>
<p>"Standing near us as we pay for a room. He's in the shadows. I
can't
see his face. . . . He's wearing a dagger. He has a scarred hand. I can
see that much."
</p>
<p>I let out the breath I was holding. "All right. What about the
inn before
that?"
</p>
<p>He was there too. The soldier with the scarred hand had been
at all
three inns we had stayed at, always in the shadows near us, always
carrying
a blade.
</p>
<p>This was beyond the realm of coincidence. The stolen horses
might be
ill chance, and it wouldn't be strange if another guest happened to
stay
at the same inns we did, following the same route north. But a guest
who
had a scarred hand, who came armed, who remained in the shadows, who
watched
us silently . . . Clearly this was one of the Prince's soldiers –
perhaps
a spy – who was tracking us during our escape from the capital.
</p>
<p>"We can't change our route," I said miserably. "This is the
only way
to Emor."
</p>
<p>Perry nodded. He was frowning again as he trailed his fingers
absentmindedly
under the washing fountain nearby. "We could go backwards. We could
stay
at yesterday's inn for three days, while the spy goes forward to search
for us on the journey ahead."
</p>
<p>"Will that be enough to permit us to shake free of him?" I
asked. I
peered through the doorway, seeking sight of the soldier. He was
nowhere
in sight.
</p>
<p>"It will if . . ." Perry took a deep breath, and when he spoke
again,
the strain was clear in his voice. "If we travel during the day. He's
used
to us travelling during the night."
</p>
<p>"Can you do that?" I asked cautiously. I knew that travelling
in the
daylight wasn't impossible for Perry, but it was very much harder for
him,
since it meant that people might see his ruined face and stare at it.
</p>
<p>"We have to." He bent down and picked up the travelling pack
he had
dropped. "Let's start back to the previous town now. It's only a day's
walk behind us. Then we can spend the next three nights at the inn
there."
</p>
<p>I said nothing, holding the door open for him. I was thinking
that,
if I was an innocent where matters of money were concerned, Perry was
even
more innocent than I, for he had not thought of the fact that had
already
occurred to me.
</p>
<p>With our horses stolen, it would take us months to reach Emor.
Our money
would not last that long.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After I had spoken, there was only silence in the room – or
rather,
there would have been, if we'd been staying in a town that permitted
silence.
From outside our window came the unending sound of cart-wheels,
shopkeepers'
calls, watch reports, and endless laughter and shouts from passersby. I
couldn't imagine how we were going to get any sleep.
</p><p>It was unlikely we would sleep anyway, because of the gnawing
at our
bellies. "Just a song or two," I begged again. "That's all we'll need.
You're such a talented bard that you're sure to gather enough coins for
a day's worth of meals, just from singing a song or two."
</p><p>Huddled over his harp in the corner of his room, Perry said
nothing.
I wondered with exasperation whether he even cared that we were hungry.
He had grown up amidst the priests of Koretia, who were prone to
fasting.
</p><p>Despite my best efforts at frugality, the money had slipped
out of my
hands like a series of oily fishes. In desperation, I had offered
myself,
on Perry's behalf, as a hired slave to the innkeepers in exchange for a
night's room and board. Most innkeepers were short of staff and willing
enough to offer a spare room, if one was available.
</p><p>But we'd finally met a innkeeper who was unwilling to give us
food as
well, and I knew that matters would only worsen from this point
forward.
It was the pilgrim season, when Daxions return to their towns of origin
in order to visit their mothers and sing blessings to the Mother of us
all. From now until the end of June, only paying guests would be
welcome
in the crowded inns. Some paying guests would even be turned away.
</p><p>But not a bard. Bards paid their way with their music, and
every innkeeper
welcomed a gifted bard, who would attract fame to the inn. If Perry
would
offer the inn guests even a small portion of his vast repertoire –
Thome
had taught Perry every song he knew during their time together – we
could
easily reach Emor. Perry's music would pay for our shelter and food,
while
my services as a domestic slave would pay for any other supplies we
needed,
such as new sandals to replace the ones that were falling apart on my
feet.
</p><p>Pausing from nursing a new blister, I said, "Your singing is a
gift
from the goddess. You can't hide your gift forever. The goddess means
for
you to share your gift with others."
</p><p>This argument struck home, I could tell from the stiffening of
Perry's
body. Cautiously, like a man testing ground to see whether it was firm,
Perry had begun to ask me questions about the Song Spirit. I had been
careful
not to proselytize my faith when first teaching him to sing, though the
wonders of the Song Spirit were present in every song I taught him. But
the Jackal had referred to the Song Spirit as his "sister-god." (The
ancient
term of "sibling-god/dess" did not translate well into modern
languages.)
This had evidently reassured Perry that it was worth learning more
about
the Song Spirit, even though he continued to consider himself to be
under the
care of Koretia's god-man.
</p><p>Even my reference to the Song Spirit was not enough to break
past Perry's
barrier of silence, though. Biting back several ferocious remarks I
could
have made, I flung myself off the bench where I was sitting, struggled
into my sandals, and said, "I'm going to look for a sandal-maker who is
willing to let me exchange my services for a new pair of sandals. He'll
probably want the services of my body." This final remark – which cut
far
too close to the fears I'd begun to have – I flung at Perry as I left
the
room.
</p><p>We had been given a cramped chamber that overlooked the
fuller's building
next door. As a result, the chamber stunk so badly that the innkeeper
could
not have guested anyone else there. It was the last chamber on the
second
story of the inn; the guests reached their rooms through a balcony that
connected with the ground by way of a rickety staircase. I hurled
myself
off the last of the steps so swiftly that I risked bringing the stairs
down in a heap. I nearly smashed to the ground a young beggar – his
profession
clear from the bowl he held – who had begun to venture near the inn.
</p><p>The beggar was all too clear an indicator of what Perry and I
would
be reduced to if even my body could not buy us our way to Emor. With a
sigh, I flicked our last coin – a tiny copper – into the beggar's bowl.
Beggars are rare in Daxis, since the poor are considered under the
special
care of the Song Spirit, but this was not an ordinary Daxion town.
</p><p>Emorton, not much smaller than the capital of Daxis, had been
founded
by Emorian emigrants fleeing from a long-ago civil war in Emor. The
town
continued to maintain close ties with our northern neighbor, with new
emigrants
arriving periodically, exchanging places with Emortonians who had
decided
that the only thing better than living in an Emorian-Daxion town was to
live in Emor itself.
</p><p>"I might as well turn my entire land over to the Chara," my
father had
said in disgust after he visited there when I was a child.
</p><p>"The fortunes of the Three Lands have always been intertwined,
since
the time they were founded," said Richard, who had accompanied my
father
on the trip. He had just turned fourteen and considered himself old
enough
now to dispute with the Song Spirit's representative.
</p><p>My father had snorted. "Emorian clothes, Emorian buildings,
Emorian
customs . . . That is not an intertwining; that is a wholesale victory
of Emor over Daxis."
</p><p>"The Emortonians have good bards," Richard pointed out.
</p><p>My father had slowly nodded. Music was the only topic on which
he was
willing to concede that Richard had greater knowledge than himself.
</p><p>Now I paused to look around me. Perry and I were in Emorton
simply because
our travels took us through the town. Still, perhaps I should take
advantage
of this visit to learn what I could about the Emorians. If we were
going
to be on enemy land – I could not help thinking that way about the
voracious
Empire of Emor – then it would be best to learn the lay of the enemy.
</p><p>The buildings here, I had been surprised to learn already,
were not
made of brick or stone but of cement covered with stucco. The stucco
was
brightly painted, almost garishly so. The buildings offered a rainbow
of
colors as I walked toward the center of town.
</p><p>To my relief, nobody bothered me, though a few Emortonian
slaves cast
curious glances at me as they passed. I was still dressed in an
ordinary
Daxion slave-tunic, somewhat worse for wear after our hard journey, yet
not so much as to draw attention to me in most Daxion towns.
</p><p>But this was Emorton. Upon our arrival in the early afternoon,
I had
looked in vain for the togas I had expected the Emortonian men to be
wearing;
I had seen such togas in old books that I had perused as a nursery
child.
Finally I had concluded that togas must have fallen out of fashion in
Emor,
for all the male free-men were wearing the thigh-long tunics I was used
to seeing Daxion free-men wear, while Emortonian free-women wore
similarly
familiar ankle-length tunics – "gowns," as they were colloquially
called.
</p><p>Only the slaves looked odd to me. They wore shapeless,
thigh-length
tunics like I did, but it was as though the tailor had cut out a long
strip
of cloth from their back, leaving the back exposed. Now, as I walked
along,
I stared at the bare backs of the slaves, wondering why the Emorians,
who
lived in the north, would wish to clothe their slaves in so scanty a
fashion.
</p><p>Just then a slave caught my eye. He was old, had a bowed
spine, and
was shuffling along with help of a stick. I greeted him respectfully as
he passed, but he did not reply; perhaps he was deaf. I automatically
looked
over my shoulder at him as he passed—
</p><p>—and my heartbeat thundered in my ears. The old man's back was
raw with
black blood, the healing scar-whips exposed to view.
</p><p>Just so Andrew's back must have looked after he was whipped as
a young
slave in Emor. His bare back would have served as a visible warning to
his master's other slaves of the consequences for disobedience.
</p><p>Sickened, I turned away. I was shaking now and wondered
whether I should
return to the safety of the inn. Everyone knew that Emorians treated
slaves
harshly. Everyone also knew that Emorian men treated women harshly.
Might
not it follow that, as a female slave, I was in the greatest danger of
all?
</p><p>At least I was not a child. I began to keep my eye out for the
children.
I had heard all my life about the Emorians' penchant for beating their
children; the beating of a Andrew as a child had transformed this tale
into a fact in my mind. The occasional slave-child ran by, busy with
errands,
but mostly I saw the town's free-children, playing in gardens. None of
the children appeared to be bruised. Perhaps their bruises were hidden
under their clothes.
</p><p>The craftsmen's shops that had clustered near the inn were
beginning
to give way to massive, squat buildings that were built as high as four
stories. On the ground floors of the buildings were more shops; I
paused
to watch a butcher weigh a cut of beef on a scale hanging over a
counter.
His customer, a noblewoman, glared at me, and I passed on, tilting my
head
to look upwards. Free-children were hanging over the windowsills of the
topmost floors of the building, shouting friendly and not-so-friendly
remarks
at passersby. The building was too large to house only the shopkeepers
over their shops; I concluded that Emorian townsmen must live like bees
in a hive, all crowded together.
</p><p>A little while longer, and I had reached the largest building
I had
seen so far; it took up an entire street and was fronted by the columns
and porticos that Emorians are famous for. There seemed to be a steady
stream of men and women entering the building through separate
entrances.
None of them seemed especially high in rank – just lesser free-folk,
such
as craftsfolk and shopkeepers.
</p><p>Curious, I followed one group of young women up to the women's
entrance
of the building. Nobody paid any attention to me as I walked through
the
great doors.
</p><p>I found myself in a long corridor, about half the length of
the building's
front, with an enormously high ceiling that curved in an arch above us.
Voices echoed around us as the young women chattered about their
morning's
work, supervising their husband's households. The young women were
standing
in a queue. At the front of the line, a statuesque free-woman was
accepting
payment before allowing the other women through to the remainder of the
building.
</p><p>I looked around. At the opposite end of the corridor, a
cluster of female
slaves was picking up pails. Impulsively, I went forward and picked up
one of the pails.
</p><p>One of the slaves, with pale skin that showed she was of
Emorian descent,
glanced my way and said, "You're late."
</p><p>"I'm sorry," I said.
</p><p>"You're new, aren't you? Don't be late again; Mistress likes
beating
us." This was spoken softly, with a glance toward the statuesque
free-woman.
</p><p>I nodded in response to the warning. The slave pivoted on her
heel,
saying, "I'm Dextra. Come. The only way in is through the chambers."
</p><p>I offered my name in return and then followed her and the
other slaves
through the entrance that the slave-mistress was guarding. The mistress
was too busy with her coins to notice me.
</p><p>The marble floors led into a small chamber, beautifully
decorated with
mosaic floors showing dolphins, seahorses, and a rather
surprised-looking
octopus. To my shock, I discovered that the inhabitants of the room –
the
young women I'd seen in line – were in the midst of stripping off their
clothes, giving them to waiting slave-attendants. Some of the young
women,
already stripped down to their breechcloths and to bands around their
breasts,
had begun to venture into a small pool of water at the end of the
chamber.
One of the young women shouted, "More water here!"
</p><p>Dextra dug her elbow into my side. "You have the cold pail. Go
on."
When I looked puzzled at her, she sighed and said, "Just pour it into
the
pool. Don't pour it on anyone's heads, though some of them deserve it."
</p><p>Her voice had gone quiet again; she was looking nervous as she
spoke.
I covered my mouth and laughed lightly; she smiled in relief. I had
only
been away from slavery for two months' time; I could still remember the
anxiety with which new slaves were welcomed by other slaves. One never
knew whether newcomers would serve as sycophantic tale-bearers to the
master
and mistress of the household.
</p><p>I had possessed no mistress, and my slave-master was my
father, who
never could abide tale-bearing slaves; it was one of the reasons I had
loved him, despite his eventual decision to thrown me out of the royal
nursery and into the slave-quarters where everyone else in the palace
thought
I belonged. Richard too, I recalled, was not given to listening to
slaves'
tales – but then, he had his own methods of spying on both slaves and
free-men.
</p><p>The young free-women, chatting now about how hard it was to
find good
slaves to buy, paid no attention to me as I poured more water into
their
pool. The pool-water splashing back at me was startlingly cold, but
none
of the women in the pool seemed to notice this. I hurried back to join
the other pail-laden slaves, who were waiting for me at the entrance to
another chamber.
</p><p>We were met with a soft wave of warm air. As I moved
cautiously into
the room, I saw that it was lit by braziers. Many of the women here
were
lying on their stomachs on couches, while women who had the clothes and
confident looks of free-servants massaged their backs and arms and
thighs.
</p><p>There was another small pool in the back of the room. One of
the women
there called, "Towels!"
</p><p>I looked at Dextra, who was in the midst of handing over the
pails to
some slaves who were already present in the room. Her hands full, she
gestured
with her chin. I hurried over to where the stack of towels stood on a
table
nearby and took the stack over to the women who were emerging from the
pool.
</p><p>They took the towels from me without looking my way. Some of
their water
splattered upon me, but this pool appeared to be filled with tepid
water.
Now dry, the women, chatting amongst each other, disappeared through a
door I had not previously noticed. As the door opened, steam emerged.
</p><p>My towels were gone. I hurried back to Dextra, who was biting
her lip
and staring at a doorway that led to a staircase.
</p><p>"What's wrong?" I murmured, keeping my voice below the sound
of the
free-women talking to each other as they were massaged.
</p><p>"My brother Dexter," she whispered back. "He won't be able to
eat his
noonday meal unless I bring it to him; the master of the male slaves
never
give the men time off to fetch their own meals. I usually bring him
half
of mine, but Mistress is keeping us too busy today for me to leave
here."
</p><p>"I'll take him the meal," I said quickly. "Nobody will miss
me. Where
do I go?"
</p><p>She hesitated; I could guess that she was uncertain whether to
trust
me with her precious package. But in the end, she told me.
</p><p>I hurried down the steps. The meal-package was hidden where
she had
told me, on the first landing. I went the rest of the way more
cautiously,
because I could see flames flickering ahead.
</p><p>I entered into an infernal realm of heat and sweat. Slave-men,
stripped
to their waists, were shovelling coal into a furnace as fast as they
could.
They never paused; they never spoke. A hard-faced master stood nearby,
watching them. I slid behind the column holding up the stairs.
</p><p>After a while, the master seemed satisfied by what he saw, for
he left
by way of the stairs. A couple of the slave-men threw down their
shovels
and ran to the corner of the room, where a barrel sat. They brought
back
dippers full of water for the rest.
</p><p>As the men snatched drinks of water between their shovelling,
the young
man closest to me, whose naturally pale skin had turned dark from the
heat,
stiffened as he caught the movement of my step. Then he saw I was a
slave,
and he relaxed.
</p><p>"Here." I offered him the package. "It's from Dextra."
</p><p>Dexter – it had to be him, for he looked very much like his
twin sister
– took the package in hand with a grateful look, tearing it open. The
sweat
gleamed on his young body, making him look like a polished statue. It
occurred to me that, now that I was free of my father's
grip, I had more options than simply giving my heart over to a cold
foreigner
who refused my offer of marriage by drawing a dagger on me. There must
be hundreds of handsome, warm-hearted men in Daxis who would be willing
to marry me.
</p><p>I wasn't even close to being tempted.
</p><p>"What is it today?" asked the youth next to him. He looked
scarcely
older than a boy, yet he didn't pause in his endless shoveling.
</p><p>"Bread, no cheese. They must have given the slave-women poor
fare today."
</p><p>"Better poor fare than an empty stomach," growled an old man,
the tendons
standing out on his withered skin.
</p><p>Dexter said nothing but tore the bread into pieces. He went
around,
handing a bit of bread to each man.
</p><p>Seeing my surprise, he smiled. "The others don't have generous
sisters,
like I do. Thank Dextra, please. I won't keep you."
</p><p>I was shocked into a remembrance that I was supposed to be a
slave at
work. Murmuring something, I turned and dashed up the stairs.
</p><p>Dextra was nowhere in sight. I could guess, though, where she
had gone.
Cautiously, I opened the door from which the steam had emerged.
</p><p>The entire room was filled with steam. In this chamber,
directly above
the furnace where the slave-men wearily worked, free-women relaxed on
tiered
benches as hot steam bathed them. Their skin glistened in the dim
light.
</p><p>No slaves stood in this room. A door lay opposite. I went over
and opened
it.
</p><p>I was nearly blinded by the light. I was confronted only with
daylight
in an open courtyard, but so great was the contrast from the steam-room
that I had to shield my eyes as I came forward. When I could finally
see
again, it was as though my eyes had decided to enchant me with a dream
sent from the Song Spirit.
</p><p>Here, in a courtyard surrounded on all sides by a covered
walkway with
columns, decorated with marble statues of naked men and women, was one
of the gardens that Emortonians seemed so fond of. In front of me lay a
pool the full length of the bath-house, filled with sun-sparkling water
and women and – I blinked, amazed – naked men. The men were on one side
of the pool, the women on the other. Neither of the groups seemed to be
paying any attention to the other, though my own cheeks grew warm with
embarrassment. It was one thing to sing bawdy songs; it was yet another
to find myself in the midst of such a song. I had heard of the
shameless
immodesty of Emorians, but this went beyond all that I might have
imagined,
to find naked men bathing in the same pool as half-naked women.
</p><p>No orgies seemed to be planned for the immediate future,
though. As
I brought forward yet another stack of towels, I overheard some of the
conversations taking place among the free-women: they were discussing
the
best places to shop for apples in town. A group of slaves who stood by
to attend the free-women were whispering about the best songs to clean
by. These thoroughly Daxion topics disconcerted me, and I looked around
for my anchor in this place. Dextra was at the other end of the pool,
helping
an old woman emerge. In any case, there was far more in this place for
me to look at.
</p><p>Abandoning the towels, and ignoring the imperious demand of a
free-woman
that I bring her something to drink, I wandered past a tree-lined path
where naked men walked together in conversation, and past a dirt ground
where half-naked women tossed a head-sized ball back and forth. Beyond
all this, on the other side of the courtyard, the covered walkway
fronted
a group of chambers that were open to the courtyard.
</p><p>Some were like the stores I had seen in the town, serving out
foods
and drinks to the bathers. But others seemed devoted to odder purposes.
In one room, a group of men appeared to be in heavy discourse with one
another. I caught the words "Chara's law" and moved forward, curious as
to what the nature of the conversation was. One of the men, though,
caught
sight of me, and shooed me away with his hands, frowning.
</p><p>I moved back quickly, assuming that my slave-tunic was what
prevented
me from taking part in this gathering. But I heard the man say to his
companion,
"Women. They always think they can understand the law." His companion
laughed.
</p><p>Thoughtful now, I returned to the pool, avoiding the lightly
armed guards
who seemed more engaged in conversation with one another than with
guarding.
At the women's end of the pool were tales of shopping and tending house
and seeing that lazy slaves received the whippings they deserved. At
the
men's end was talk of laws and government and the war we were waging
with
Koretia.
</p><p>I wondered what these Emorians would think if they found
themselves
facing the High Lady, with her subtle ability to cut a man off at the
knees
if he proved troublesome in matters of government. Biting back a laugh,
I returned to the covered walkway.
</p><p>I had saved the best for last: the only part of the entire
complex of
baths and entertainment that spoke to me as a Daxion. In the very last
chamber sat a bard, singing to his audience.
</p><p>But even here, I discovered, was not Daxis but Emor. For the
bard, clean-shaven
in the fashion of Emorian men, was singing an invented tale of an
Emorian
who came to live in a foreign land. The Emorian in the song did his
best
to fit in with the men around him, but always, always, there was the
call
of home, the aching that came from having been torn from the womb of
his
native land. . . .
</p><p>I found that tears were beginning to leak from my eyes. I
struggled
to keep them back. Some slaves consider tears to be a helpful weapon in
their wars against their masters and mistresses, but my father had
always
hated my tears, and Richard, during our nursery years, had simply
laughed
when I cried at something he did. There was no need for tears at a
melancholy
song, and I had wept far too much recently—
</p><p>I paused on that thought as the bard began to list all the
things the
Emorian missed from his homeland. I had cried for my father's death,
and
before that for Rosetta's death. But when had I cried before then? I
couldn't
remember. It must have been years and years ago.
</p><p>Andrew's voice came to me then, sharp with warning: <i>"Take
care that
your mask of indifference doesn't become a permanent feature of your
face."</i>
</p><p>I let the tears fall, thinking of the tears that Andrew could
not allow
to fall, so firmly in place had he welded his slave-mask. The bard was
singing of an Emorian's exile from Emor; even though I was not Emorian,
it was right that I should weep for a man who was torn from his native
land, as Andrew had been.
</p><p>And then I realized that the Emorian in the song was not
exiled from
Emor after all. He was an Emortonian who was exiled from Daxis.
</p><p>The Emortonians thundered their approval of this unexpected
ending to
the song. So loud was their applause that it was clear this melancholy
song spoke deeply to them. They were Emorian in heritage, but their
native
land was Daxis, and it would cut deeply into them to be exiled from the
land of the goddess.
</p><p>It came to me then, in the cold wind that the Song Spirit
blows when
making revelations, that everything I had seen on this day was Daxion.
Even if it took strange forms I had never seen before in Daxis, these
Emorian-Daxions
had chosen to live in the land of bards and to blend their ancestral
heritage
with the native heritage of Daxis. If my father had flung them from
Daxis,
as he had hinted at doing until Richard changed his mind, the
Emortonians
would have experienced the same sorrowful loss as any other Daxion who
has been exiled from the Song Spirit's blessings.
</p><p>This was Daxis, just as much as the busy ports of southeastern
Daxis,
the isolated marsh villages of southwestern Daxis, the arid wastes of
central
Daxis, the orchards of northern Daxis, the chilly border region at the
highest tip of Daxis, and all the other towns and villages and
countryside
of the land of Daxis. All of it was my homeland, yet until now I had
thought
of my father's kingdom as nothing more than the confines of the palace
and capital, with people outside the capital who were no different than
the ones inside the city.
</p><p>It was like diving into the Spirit's womb, expecting to see a
child
or two, and finding an entire kingdom awaiting me. I jammed my fist
against
my mouth in an attempt to hold back a cry.
</p><p>And then I cried aloud as a hand jerked me away from the
crowd.
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>It was the slave-mistress. She stared with furious eyes at me,
saying,
"Who are you? How did you sneak past me?"
</p><p>Bits of grass and earth flew in the air as Dextra skidded to a
halt
next to us. She said breathlessly, "Mistress, she meant no harm. She's
new here."
</p><p>"She is not." The mistress looked down her nose at Dextra.
"Look at
her tunic; she's not from Emorton. She's a visitor's slave who decided
to sneak in here for a bit of fun. A new friend of yours, is she,
Dextra?
I'll deal with you later."
</p><p>Dextra seemed to shrink in on herself, like a salted snail. I
said quickly,
"She knows nothing about—"
</p><p>"Enough." The mistress's voice was sharp. "I've wasted enough
time with
you already. —Throw her out, and when you're done, take Dextra aside
and
teach her a lesson in obedience." This was spoken to one of the guards,
who nodded and grasped my arm, pulling me toward the entrance.
</p><p>I squirmed in his grasp, trying to look back at Dextra, but I
had only
one last, brief glimpse of her, looking toward me with the shocked
expression
of a slave whose trust has been betrayed.
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>Once outside again, I wrapped my arms around me. Dusk was
approaching;
should I try to go further into town? I knew that, somewhere ahead of
me,
must lie the most impressive feature of any Emorian town: the public
square,
with a marketplace surrounded by government buildings.
</p><p>I hesitated, lured by the image of entering into the heart of
Emorian-Daxion
life. As I stood there, pondering my possibilities, a couple of young
free-women
came out of the baths, chatting.
</p><p>"May the Song Spirit watch over me – what's wrong with this
shawl of
mine?" asked one, awkwardly groping at the brooch which held the
Emorian-style
shawl in place.
</p><p>"Where's your body-slave?" asked the other young woman,
beckoning her
own slave forward to help her companion.
</p><p>"Lagging behind as usual. . . . But no, Fortunata, I insist –
today
was the day. I remember it because our family was living in the capital
then, and when night came, the entire sky was lit up red, with Capital
Mountain black in front of it. People came out of their homes to watch,
and I remember someone remarking that it was midsummer's eve."
</p><p>"You were only two then," the other woman replied, idly
playing with
her slave's braids as the slave strove to put the other woman's shawl
to
rights. "How could you possibly remember that far back?"
</p><p>"It happened today, I swear." The shawled companion stared
into the
distance, as though seeing it happen again. None of the three women had
noticed me, standing in the shadows nearby. "The next day we received
word
that Koretia's capital had fallen. That was thirty years ago today."
</p><p>The words fell upon me like large, vicious beast, choking at
my throat.
I was barely aware of the women continuing down the stairs. I was aware
of only one thing.
</p><p>I must get back to Perry.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time I reached the inn, the pins holding my hair up had
tumbled
from place, and my hair was flying in my face.
</p>
<p>Because of this, I nearly stumbled over the young beggar, who
had chosen
to seat himself directly at the bottom of the steps to the upper floor
of the inn, perhaps on the theory that inn guests would be forced to
walk
by him in order to enter or leave their rooms. As he leaned forward to
protect the bowl I had upset, I swung myself round the stair-post and
thundered
up the steps to our room.
</p>
<p>The chamber was empty.
</p>
<p>There was no sign of Perry. His harp and its case were missing
too.
I looked frantically out the window, but in the dimming light of dusk,
I could not see him.
</p>
<p>I sat down heavily on his bed and tried to think. If Perry did
not fear
crowds so greatly, I would have assumed he had gone downstairs to the
inn
hall in order to listen better to the bard there; faintly through our
windows,
I could hear the sound of her singing. But I could not imagine Perry
voluntarily
walking into the crowded hall – nor, for that matter, into the streets
that remained crowded at this hour when people were returning home to
their
evening meals.
</p>
<p>Had he been kidnapped by one of Richard's spies? Or perhaps
even formally
placed under arrest by a soldier? If it had not been for my fight
earlier
with Perry, I would have assumed that Perry had simply gone for a walk.
But I had left Perry in agony of conscience earlier, upset over his
inability
to raise money for us. . . .
</p>
<p>I lifted my head, like a dog that scents its path. After a
minute I
made my way slowly down the inn steps.
</p>
<p>The beggar was still there, hunched over his bowl. He did not
look up
as I stopped next to him. His bowl was empty.
</p>
<p>I crouched down, taking care not to come too near. "Perry," I
said,
"please come back to our chambers. You don't need to do this for us.
I'll
find another job I can be hired at."
</p>
<p>For a while, I thought that Perry would not stir, and I
wondered how
I would succeed in persuading him to leave his place. Finally, moving
slowly
like an old man, he picked up his bowl and the harp case that was
hidden
in the shadow nearby. He followed me upstairs.
</p>
<p>Back in our rooms, he let the case down quietly and placed the
bowl
atop it. The bowl came from our last, sparse meal, I saw. He went over
to stand by the window.
</p>
<p>"Perry?" I said.
</p>
<p>"I'm sorry," he replied. "I'm not very good at it any more. I
suppose
it's because I'm no longer a child."
</p>
<p>There was a hardness in my throat that grew painful when I
swallowed.
I said, "You haven't done that for a long time, have you? Not since
John
found you on the streets. What gave you the idea of doing it now?"
</p>
<p>He did not speak at once. Over his head, I could see the
faint, lingering
fire left behind by the midsummer's-eve sun that had set.
</p>
<p>"It's about an hour ago," he said.
</p>
<p>All the daggers of the Three Lands were pricking my back. "An
hour ago?"
</p>
<p>"When the fire started."
</p>
<p>Barely breathing now, I came up to him. The window was not one
of the
long windows the Koretians favor; it was one of the small windows that
appear in Emorian-style buildings. I contented myself with leaning
against
the wall, facing the good side of his face. "Which fire?" I asked
softly.
</p>
<p>"You know." For a minute more, he simply stared out at the red
horizon;
then he said, "I thought perhaps I might have forgotten something I'd
done
in the past – something I could do to earn us money. So I tried to
remember.
I went back to ten years ago on this day. And then I went back to
twenty
years ago on this day. And then I went back to thirty years ago— I
never
remember that far back. But this time I did. It's faint at first. Just
a melody. I open my eyes, and she's there. My mother. She's singing me
to sleep."
</p>
<p>It came then like a ballad: what he had heard, what he had
felt, what
he had seen. The blackness of sleep. The redness of fire. The
flame-figure
that was his mother, reaching out to him, setting him on fire with her
touch, rescuing him from death by tossing him from the burning house as
he screamed in agony . . . And then the waking, after all the pain, and
another woman touched him gently, and he screamed again.
</p>
<p>I was shaking by the time he finished reliving his memories.
It was
like witnessing what had happened, and being unable to stop it. Below
us,
on the streets, the sound of the nightly din was growing, but still I
could
hear the faint sound of the bard in the hall below.
</p>
<p>"Ursula told me once that you used to hate music," I said
finally. "No
wonder you were frightened when I first sang to you."
</p>
<p>"It wasn't just that."
</p>
<p>I looked at Perry, as best I could. Outside, lamps from the
passing
carts and carriages lit and relit Perry's face. I turned; with some
fumbling,
I managed to locate the room's oil-lamp. Perry came over and helped me
light it, bringing out his flint-box. After several minutes of united
effort,
we finally managed to light the flame. I stared at the fire, thinking
of
what courage it must take Perry to do something as simple as lighting a
lamp.
</p>
<p>"What else was it?" I asked finally.
</p>
<p>The flame-light danced over Perry's face as he stared down at
the lamp.
I was standing on the opposite side of the small, circular table. He
did
not meet my eyes.
</p>
<p>When he spoke again, it was as though it were an extension of
what he
had said before. "I can hear her singing," he said. "It's beautiful. I
want to hear more. There's a door here. I go through it. The door has
slammed
shut behind me. I pound on it, knowing that John is on the other side
of
the door. I can't get back to him. I turn. There she is."
</p>
<p>I waited, but there was nothing more, so I said, "Who? Who is
there?"
</p>
<p>He lifted his eyes and stared at me. "Mother?" he whispered.
"Is it
you?"
</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>Cartwheels screeched below us. The bard sang. I said, "What am
I doing,
Perry?"
</p>
<p>"You're walking toward me," he whispered. "You want to touch
me. Please,
no – please don't touch me. Please don't hurt me—"
</p>
<p>I was grateful for the noise outside then, for he made a sound
that
would have brought the innkeeper investigating us if we had been
staying
at a quieter inn. It wasn't a scream, exactly. It was more like the
prolonged
whimper of a whelp that has been removed from its dam.
</p>
<p>He was sobbing now. I resisted the impulse to shake him out of
his memory,
if that was what this was. His mother, singing to him and then touching
him and setting him on fire. His mother again, but this seemed as
though
it had happened on a different occasion. An occasion after he had met
the
Jackal.
</p>
<p>"I want to go back," said Perry through his sobs. "I want to
return
to John. But I can't. The door is closed. You lured me away from him
with
your song, and now you're hurting me."
</p>
<p>His voice was choking, though whether from the pain of the
touch or
the pain of the loss I could not tell. I said quietly, "Am I still
there,
Perry? What am I doing?"
</p>
<p>"You're walking away." Perry just managed to force the words
out. "There's
someone else in the room, someone in the shadows— It's him!"
</p>
<p>"Who?" I asked. Perry had gone rigid; he was staring at
something behind
me. I resisted the impulse to look over my shoulder.
</p>
<p>"Him," Perry said, and this time there was loathing in his
voice. "John's
blood brother. John talks about him all the time. I know John loves him
dearly, but I thought he was lost forever, dead or enslaved. But now
he's
back. He's back, and he wants to take John away from me."
</p>
<p>Pure, black anger, such as I had never imagined Perry was
capable of
feeling, much less expressing. I gripped the table hard, drawn into the
fear of the moment.
</p>
<p>"You're walking up to him," said Perry, his voice harsh with
hatred.
"You're taking his hands. . . . You're smiling at him. . . . Now you're
both looking at me. . . . You're partners in this! You've conspired
together
to take me away from John! Because of you, I'll never be John's
companion
again!"
</p>
<p>Downstairs, the hall thundered with the sound of clapping and
shouting
as the bard finished her evening's singing. Outside, a nightjar trilled
his own ballad from a nearby perch. Perry had gone over to sit on the
bench
against the wall, in the cool shadows. He was huddled around himself,
rocking.
</p>
<p>I stayed where I was. I was remembering what John had told me
before
I left Koretia with Perry: "The god sent Perry a dream fifteen years
ago,
a dream he also sent to me and Andrew. . . ."
</p>
<p>"Perry," I said. "When you first met me, when I was running
away from
the palace . . . Did you recognize me? Did you know that I was the
woman
in the dream?"
</p>
<p>A flicker of light as Perry's one remaining eye glanced up. He
nodded
and then looked down again. His arms were still tight around him as he
attempted to shield himself from the pain.
</p>
<p>"Well, then, why in all mercy didn't you run away from me?" I
cried.
</p>
<p>His head jerked up, and his arms loosed. Dimly, in the
shadowed light,
I could see the startled look on his face. "I couldn't," he said. "You
needed me."
</p>
<p>I didn't say anything. I was fighting back tears for the
second time
that day. Andrew had nearly lost his life, twice over, in order to save
me. John had refused a peace settlement with Richard in order to
protect
me, risking extended warfare for his land. And now this.
</p>
<p>I hadn't noticed Perry get up. I became aware that he was
standing on
the other side of the table again, looking at me with some concern. I
said
in a shaking voice, "You should have left me. I'm not worth this."
</p>
<p>Perry shook his head. "You're not like I thought in the dream.
Neither
is Andrew. You're like . . . I think I know Andrew, and then I go
deeper
into him, and I find that there's a part of him I haven't seen before,
and then I go deeper, and there's more. You're like that too. You're
not
just pain. You mustn't think you are. You've brought me so much that is
good. You taught me to sing."
</p>
<p>"But you're still afraid of me," I guessed.
</p>
<p>He returned his gaze to the lamp. "I'm still afraid of fire,
but that
doesn't mean that fire is evil. I . . . I don't want to leave John."
</p>
<p>"You don't have to," I said swiftly. "Perry, we'll start back
to the
Jackal's palace tomorrow. You can be with John again."
</p>
<p>He stared at me. Then, subtle as the creep of dawn, a smile
slid onto
his face.
</p>
<p>"Thank you," he said softly. "I knew that you wouldn't really
force
me away from John, but . . . Thank you. It's all right, though. John
and
I talked about it before I left. He said that he would send someone
else
to escort you if I wished, but he thought that I could help you in ways
that other escorts couldn't. And I want to help you. You're my friend."
</p>
<p>From Perry, that word was enormous. Only six people in the
entire world
were his friends. Only six people in the entire world could he talk to.
</p>
<p>"Thank you," I said, greatly moved. "I don't understand the
meaning
of this dream, but I promise, I'll never touch you unless you want me
to.
I don't want to hurt you."
</p>
<p>"I know," he said softly and went over to pick up his harp
case.
</p>
<p>I stood in the wavering light of the flame, absorbing all that
I had
learned. On a certain level, what I had learned was nothing new. I had
always known that it took Perry great courage to help me. I also had
known
that the Jackal believed that Perry needed to help me – that Perry
needed
to stretch the boundaries of what he could do. <i>"Never force
him to do
anything,"</i> John had advised me, <i>"but give him the
opportunity to
try new challenges."</i> I had simply not realized, until this
night, how
great the challenge was that I had set before Perry.
</p>
<p>I went over to stand beside the window. A night breeze stirred
my sweat-dampened
tunic. The sky was entirely black now, except for the stars that the
Song
Spirit had long ago given birth to, strewing them across the heavens
with
her wind. Below me, the bard emerged from the inn with an accompanying
servant counting the night's coins. The bard paused to look up at the
sky.
She was singing softly a song that it took me a minute to recognize. It
had been many years since I had last heard it, in Rosetta's company.
</p>
<p>The Song of the Wounded Man. I could hear Rosetta's voice
again, summarizing
the song: <i>"It tells of a princess who happened upon a wounded
man who
was her father's mortal enemy. She took pity on the man and nursed him
. . ."</i>
</p>
<p>It took me a while to realize I was crying. And it took me
much longer
to realize that Perry was standing next to me, with his hand over mine.
</p>
<p>It was hovering barely above my skin. Perry's eyes were wide
and glazed;
sweat ran down his face, like rainwater over the dark earth. But he did
not move his hand.
</p>
<p>I carefully edged my hand out from under his. "I'm sorry," I
said. "I
didn't mean to cry; I just— Your dream reminded me of Andrew. I miss
him."
</p>
<p>I tried to keep my voice cool and detached, the way Andrew's
would have
been if he had spoken. I didn't succeed. Perry took a step back and
looked
at me. He said, "Are you . . . ? I don't know if it's wrong for me to
ask,
but are you in love with Andrew?"
</p>
<p>I nodded.
</p>
<p>Perry bit his lip and looked down. He scuffed his boot on the
floor
a couple of times before saying softly, "Andrew's a eunuch. You should
know that."
</p>
<p>"I do," I said. Then, seeing his surprise as he looked up, I
added,
"I overheard Andrew and John talking. There's a hidden passage in the
Jackal's
palace . . . I shouldn't have gone there, I know. But I did, and I
heard
Andrew talking to John about me. Andrew said . . . He seems to care
about
me."
</p>
<p>"And he's afraid of that," Perry said, understanding at once.
"Is that
why he left the Jackal's palace without saying farewell?"
</p>
<p>"He told John he wanted to hunt for information about the
forbidden
song," I said, "but really, his departure was because of me." As I
spoke,
it occurred to me that Perry had shown a great deal more courage than
Andrew
had. Both men had reason to fear me, but Perry had stood his ground,
whereas
Andrew had fled.
</p>
<p>"He doesn't like talking about it," Perry said softly. His
brow was
creased, as though he was trying to make sense of this puzzle. "It must
have hurt him when the Emorians did it, and I know that there are lots
of people who don't consider him a man. That must hurt too. But he's so
brave about everything else; I don't understand why he wouldn't be
brave
about this. I think . . . I think something else must have happened to
him in Emor. Something terrible that makes him afraid of being a
eunuch.
Of doing anything that would remind him that he's a eunuch."
</p>
<p>I thought about this and realized that it made perfect sense.
Emor,
I already knew, was a place where masters abused their slaves. It would
make sense if the masters there treated their eunuch slaves even more
terribly.
And so Andrew had spent the rest of his life trying to avoid all
memories
of what the Emorians had made him into . . .
</p>
<p>And I had entered his life. Someone whose very presence
reminded him
that he was not an ordinary man.
</p>
<p>"The dream," I murmured.
</p>
<p>Perry nodded. "Andrew dreamed it too. He doesn't remember it,
but I
think . . . I think what happened in the dream must have been hard for
him too. Being touched by you. And maybe what was happening in the
dream
was hard for you as well? I don't know. I don't think it has happened
yet,
whatever the dream is."
</p>
<p>"So all three of us are going to need much courage," I
concluded. Now,
finally, I was beginning to understand why the Jackal had sent Perry
and
me on this dangerous route to Emor. Not merely to expand Perry's
boundaries,
but because the Jackal knew that Perry and I – like Andrew – would need
every drop of courage we were capable of drinking in, in order to face
whatever trial awaited us when the dream came true.
</p>
<p>Perry began to speak, then fell short. He stared down at the
hand that
had reached out to me a short time ago: his left hand. It was curled in
a ball. He said softly, "Serva?"
</p>
<p>"Yes? What is it?"
</p>
<p>"Will you come with me?"
</p>
<p>I stared at him; then I realized what he meant. I felt the
same mixture
of wonder and joy I had felt on the day I first heard him sing. "Of
course,"
I said gently. "That's my job."
</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>The people in the inn's singing hall were restless after the
departure
of the evening's bard. Some of them kept glancing at the empty space at
the end of the hall, as though wishing the bard were still there. The
innkeeper,
drawing drinks for the patrons, glanced at the door, as though afraid
she
was losing most of her customers.
</p>
<p>Everyone looked up, though, as the first notes of the harp
began. A
stillness settled over the audience as people sat down to listen to the
man who had quietly seated himself within the bard's cove.
</p>
<p>Not until the first notes were sung, though, did shock spread
over the
faces of the listeners as they heard, for the first time in their
lives,
the most beautiful sound that Daxions had ever heard: Perry, singing
for
them and for me the Tale of the Song Twins.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Everything is going too well," said Perry.
</p>
<p>It was four weeks later; we were walking toward our next town.
Despite
the fact that it was noonday, Perry appeared cheerful and confident. It
had been many days since Perry had ceased to be nervous every time we
set
out after sunrise.
</p>
<p>I paused to walk around a rock that had fallen into the path.
We had
reached central Daxis, where the hills were no longer soft with grasses
but were sheer walls of stone – crumbling stone, which tended to fall
at
any moment. I was already feeling apprehensive after dodging several
rocks
that day, and was exhausted from tramping up and down hills, so I said
crossly, "Don't tell me that you're one of those gloomy men who
believes
that good fortune is punished by the gods."
</p>
<p>"Well, we've had our share of good fortune, haven't we?
Everything has
gone well since I began singing at inns. We have money coming in
steadily,
we haven't encountered the Prince's soldiers, and we've seen no more of
the Prince's spy. Maybe I've been trained to be too cynical about such
matters, but the Jackal always said that the moments when you are most
relaxed is when danger is most likely to strike."
</p>
<p>"Then it won't be today," I said sharply as I steered myself
around
another boulder. "I'm as tense as an overstrung harp."
</p>
<p>Perry laughed, and then stopped abruptly. I followed his gaze
toward
the road ahead.
</p>
<p>"Six," breathed Perry. "Half a unit. We won't be able to make
it past
them." He ducked under an overhang of rock. I followed suit. The
soldiers
ahead took no notice of us; they were busy holding an extended argument
with a group of farmers who were trying to push their way past the
blockade
on the road. One of the farmers broke off and made his way back down
the
road toward us, disgust plain on his face.
</p>
<p>"It's no good," he said to us as he came abreast. "Those
cursed soldiers
aren't letting anyone through. They <i>say</i> they're on
the lookout for
the Prince's enemies, but I'd say they're just having one of those days
when they want to harass decent, hard-working people like ourselves.
You
may as well head back to wherever you came from."
</p>
<p>I looked over at Perry. The inn we had come from had been
welcoming
a new bard when we left, and we were not earning enough money that it
would
be wise to skip a night. "Is there any other way into town?" I asked.
</p>
<p>The farmer grinned. "Want to show those soldiers up, do you?
Can't say
as I blame you. Well, there's another path just down the road. It's a
bit
narrow because it follows the cliff walls, but it'll get you to the
town
in the end. You just go down to where that apple tree is growing and
veer
off to the left. —Hey, there, are you coming?" He turned his back on us
to call to his companions.
</p>
<p>Perry turned immediately and began walking back the way we had
come.
When I caught up with him and spoke his name, he said, "I don't think
it
would be a good idea to follow that man's directions. We don't know
what
the path is like. It might be something utterly unpassable that only
the
local people know the trick to maneuvering through."
</p>
<p>"Let's venture down a ways," I suggested. "It's better than
going back
the way we came."
</p>
<p>"I just don't like the sound of that path," said Perry
doggedly. "And
something about this is odd. Why only half a unit of soldiers? Usually
a full unit is assigned to guard crossroads."
</p>
<p>"Don't be a fool," I said. "You're still in that mood of
thinking everything
is going to go wrong. I don't want to travel back over that rock-strewn
path we just wove our way through. You can go back on your own if you
like."
</p>
<p>I did not look Perry's way to see how he took this remark; I
was busy
finding the top of the path that the farmer had described. It was
indeed
narrow, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side, but it
appeared blessedly free of obstacles.
</p>
<p>I walked rapidly down the path, with Perry's step just behind
mine.
"Look," I said, "you can see that this is a perfectly good path to
take.
In fact, it's a lot better than that rock-cursed road we just left
behi—"
</p>
<p>I stopped, having rounded a curve in the road to find myself
facing
a wall. On three sides now, the hills rose straight up. The fourth side
was the way we had come.
</p>
<p>There was a hiss of metal sliding past metal. Perry, quicker
than I
to realize what was happening, had drawn his sword and whirled round.
Because
of that, we were saved instant death from the six men in farming
clothes
who had followed behind us.
</p>
<p>Six men, I thought dully as I followed Perry's desperate
gestures to
keep behind him. Six soldiers at the blockade, five soldiers posing as
farmers, and a sixth "farmer" to lure us this way – a full unit, as
Perry
would have guessed if I had allowed him enough time to think about it
rather
than overcoming his thief's instincts with fear that I would leave him
behind.
</p>
<p>On the face of it, we had as poor a chance of survival as we
would if
we had Koretia's Sun God rite performed upon us. John had been right
about
Perry, though; cornered like this, he was a ferocious fighter. Three
men
were dead already, and one of the three men left was waving back the
others.
This must be the lieutenant of the unit, now aware of what sort of
danger
his soldiers were facing, and therefore taking on the enemy himself.
</p>
<p>There was a clash of swords, and then a pause; Perry had taken
a step
backwards. My knowledge of bladeplay was poor, but that step back told
me what Perry was facing. I looked around the ground frantically to see
whether any stones lay there that I could throw in order to distract
the
lieutenant's attention, but unluckily, this appeared to be the one path
in central Daxis that was free of rocks.
</p>
<p>Perry took another step back; he was nearly against the back
wall now.
I squeezed my way into a corner so that he would avoid touching me. My
move distracted Perry, though. He looked over to his side to see where
I was . . . It was the scene in the Daxion palace grounds played over
once
more, but with the wrong victor. The lieutenant cut his blade into
Perry's
sword arm.
</p>
<p>The only noise was of Perry's sword falling to the ground.
Perry himself
made no sound, though his arm was bleeding badly. I began to step
forward
with some plea on my lips for the soldiers to allow Perry, at least, to
live. And then the lieutenant reached forward with one hand, and I
remembered,
too late, that death was not what Perry feared most.
</p>
<p>I recognized at once the scream that Perry emitted: it was the
terrified
cry of the rabbit when I had touched him. The two bottom-ranked
soldiers
in backed away, unnerved by the force of Perry's cry, but the
lieutenant
hung grimly on as Perry tried to wrench himself away. There was nowhere
he could go, in any case: nothing lay behind him except the cliff wall,
myself, and his sword lying on the ground.
</p>
<p>I don't think I got as far as thinking about what I was doing;
Perry's
scream had driven all thought from my mind. I simply scooped up the
sword,
stepped forward, and drove it into the lieutenant's belly. Then, as he
gave a scream as high-pitched as Perry's, I realized what I had done.
Letting
loose of the hilt, I watched the lieutenant sink to his knees. Perry
was
already on the ground, curled in a ball in the corner opposite to mine.
</p>
<p>I would have stared forever at the lieutenant's still body if
I had
not heard the step of the other two men. They were looking sickly –
between
Perry's scream and my unexpected violence, they looked as though they
expected
Koretia's Moon Goddess to appear at any moment and start slaying them
left
and right. But Perry and I were both now weaponless, and the soldiers
were
determined to finish what they had started.
</p>
<p>They were intent on capturing us, while I was intent on
finding a way
out; that is why I noticed the shadow that appeared between us. I had
barely
enough time to throw myself back against the wall and crouch against
the
ground before the rock slammed down the cliff wall to the space between
the soldiers and us.
</p>
<p>It missed the soldiers by a good margin, showering chunks of
stone all
around. A few chunks hit me and bruised me. This must have happened to
the soldiers as well, but I knew that their shouts did not come from
harm
from the rock, but from fear of what the rock represented. By the time
that I raised my head, coughing from the dust thrown up by the rock, we
were alone: me, four corpses, and a man badly wounded, though not by a
sword.
</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>"At least I got my sword back," said Perry.
</p>
<p>I jerked my head up. I had taken care to talk to Perry as much
as possible,
knowing that he could not otherwise be released from silence, but this
was the first full sentence that Perry had spoken in a week.
</p>
<p>After managing to jerk the sword out of the lieutenant's body,
I had
coaxed Perry from the scene of our attack by appealing to my need for
his
protection; I had not forgotten everything the Jackal had taught me
about
how best to raise Perry's courage. We had fled to nearby grassland,
where
we had hidden ourselves among grasses that grow as high as a man's
waist.
There, when we had gone far enough in to be out of ear's reach to
anyone,
Perry had allowed me to clean and bandage his wound. I remembered him
telling
me the story about a similar bandaging that had taken place many years
before. Trying to wipe the wound clean amidst Perry's screams and
shudders,
I understood why the Jackal had been forced to sacrifice his hand
before
Perry would allow himself to be touched.
</p>
<p>Perry passed out before the end. For the next six days we had
stayed
in the grassland, eking out our meager supplies. The grassland had been
hot and bug-filled, and twice we had been drenched with rain, but I was
thankful to be alive and thankful that Perry was still speaking, if
only
in single words.
</p>
<p>We were sitting now in our double-chambered inn quarters,
which I had
bought with the last of our money, on the implausible theory that the
soldiers
would be unlikely to search for us in the most expensive inn in town.
Perry
knew our lack of money and our lack of food; he was in the midst of
opening
his harp case.
</p>
<p>"You don't have to do that," I said. "I've already paid for
tonight's
meal."
</p>
<p>"It will help to sing," said Perry, his hair obscuring his
face as he
bent over the harp to check the tone of the string. "It will make it
hurt
less."
</p>
<p>I knew that he was not speaking of his arm wound, but I said,
"I wish
that the Jackal were here to look at that. I think that I'm caring for
it properly, but I don't have a doctor's training to be sure."
</p>
<p>Perry opened his mouth to reply, and then whirled and grabbed
his sword,
which he had kept close to his side ever since the attack. At the next
moment, there was a knock on the door.
</p>
<p>"Who is it?" I asked as Perry, with grim and desperate
determination
in his eyes, took up a stance to the side of the door.
</p>
<p>"It's Greta, dearie. May I come in?"
</p>
<p>Perry walked quickly away from the door. I waited until his
sword was
sheathed and he was bending over his harp again before I opened the
door
to the innkeeper.
</p>
<p>She smiled amiably at me. "Is this all to your satisfaction,
then? I
consider myself a true servant of the Spirit, and I always give my best
rooms to the bards."
</p>
<p>"It is a beautiful pair of rooms," I replied. "Thank you."
</p>
<p>The innkeeper glanced at Perry, who was rubbing his bandage
with his
left hand while he continued to pluck the harp with his right hand.
Lowering
her voice, she said, "Now, I don't ask questions of my visitors, but I
like to think that I look after everyone who is my guest, particularly
when they are called by the Spirit to her special service. So I thought
maybe I'd check whether anyone has been visiting this inn, asking
peculiar
questions – and sure enough, my eldest granddaughter, who works as
free-servant
in my kitchen, says that a man was around here yesterday, asking
whether
she had seen a bard and a woman travelling together. A wounded bard, he
said. So I thought you might want to know."
</p>
<p>My mouth was dry enough that I needed to swallow before I
could say,
"What did the man look like?"
</p>
<p>"Dressed in a lesser free-man's tunic, my girl said,
well-spoken and
polite, but apparently very cold in manner. My girl thought that he
must
be a soldier on his day off because he had an air of discipline to him,
she said. . . . Let me know if you need anything, dearie. My room is
just
at the end of the passage."
</p>
<p>I waited until her footsteps had faded down the hallway before
saying,
"She looks as though she would fight off the Prince's army for our
sake."
</p>
<p>"We should leave," said Perry, but he made no move.
</p>
<p>"Where would we go?" I said. "We can't hide in the grassland
forever.
If the soldiers have already checked here, perhaps they won't look here
again."
</p>
<p>Perry made no reply. He had found a note that did not ring
true, and
he was busy tightening the string.
</p>
<p>"Perry, you ought to let me make the rest of the journey on my
own,"
I said.
</p>
<p>Perry still did not bother to look up; he simply shook his
head.
</p>
<p>"I could find a way to make enough money to finish the journey
on my
own—"
</p>
<p>"No." Perry's voice was firm. He looked up and added, "I'll
take better
care of you next time. I promise."
</p>
<p>I felt a prickling in my throat as I saw his expression of
anger and
knew that the anger was not directed at me. I went over to him as close
as I dared and knelt down at his feet. Not knowing what else to say, I
asked, "Will you sing a song for me tonight? I've missed hearing your
voice."
</p>
<p>He ducked his head. I thought that he would not reply. Then,
for the
first time in a week, his shy smile reappeared. "What would you like to
hear?"
</p>
<p>I took a deep breath before replying, "Sing me the Song of the
Wounded
Man."
</p>
<p>"That's appropriate," said Perry, rising with his harp in
hand. "But
I'm not going to leave you when you finish healing me."
</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>Perhaps it was his recent wounding that caused Perry to sing
the tale
so well that night, despite the fact he had heard it only once, on
midsummer's
eve. As Perry sung the song, the wounded man was a prisoner in the
King's
dungeon; he was reshaping the tale, as bards do.
</p>
<p>The inn was the largest we had ever stayed in, with a singing
hall full
to the brim. By the time that Perry finished his song, the room was
fuller
still, as people passing by began to stop and listen. The night's
singing
had ended. I had kept my eye on the door all evening, waiting for the
entrance
of the man whom the innkeeper had described, but he never came. As
Perry
finished singing, his audience gave a collective sigh, followed by a
very
long silence; the longer the silence in Daxis after a bard has sung,
the
greater the praise. Finally, there began a series of chinks and clinks
as the audience streamed by to toss copper coins in Perry's bowl, and
in
a few cases even silver coins.
</p>
<p>"We've done well tonight," I murmured to Perry as the last of
the patrons
began to leave. "Perhaps we can hide out for a few days more in the
woods
with the food we can buy with this."
</p>
<p>I leaned forward to pick up the bowl. As I did so a coin rang
down on
top of the rest: it was made of gold. The hand that had dropped it
stayed
where it was, hanging loosely next to a dagger carried by a man. It was
a hand covered with many scars, such as experienced soldiers receive.
</p>
<p>I looked up. He was standing in the rigid pose that Perry had
noticed
at the marriage song-fest, his face hard and his eyes very cold. The
eyes
were focussed entirely on Perry, who – I could see out of the corner of
my eye – was gaping up at him in shock.
</p>
<p>The man said quietly, "I'd like to look at that wound of
yours, if I
may."
</p>
<p>Perry stared for a moment more. Then, without a word, he rose
with his
harp in hand and began to walk toward the stairs leading to our rooms.
I stayed where I was, my arms hugging my chest, watching the backs of
Perry
and Andrew.
</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>"Did you know he was following us?" Perry demanded a while
later.
</p>
<p>"I wasn't sure," I said as I gathered up the coins in the bowl
and placed
them in my belt-purse. The inn was closed for the night; Perry had
finally
come back to the hall to tell me that Andrew had gone in search of the
innkeeper in order to hire a room for the night. I tossed Perry the
gold
coin, which he caught with a smile as I said, "Long after we fled the
wedding,
I kept thinking about the way he had stood; it seemed familiar to me as
well. And eventually I remembered that Andrew had gone searching for
more
information about the Song of Succession. I knew that he must be in
Daxis
somewhere."
</p>
<p>"He said that I was too skilled as a thief," Perry told me
happily,
sitting cross-legged on the floor beside me. "He lost our track after
the
wedding and only caught up with us a fortnight before we were attacked.
He was the one who sent the rock crashing down."
</p>
<p>"I guessed that," I said. "I didn't want to coax out your
hopes, because
I wasn't certain, but I saw the shadow of the rock before it fell, and
I <i>thought</i> I saw a man's shadow behind it. I
couldn't think of who
else would want to rescue us."
</p>
<p>Perry hugged his harp against his chest. "He heard a rumor
amongst the
bards about a new bard, one with half a face. He knew that it must be
me,
so he tracked us down; then he followed us to make sure that we
wouldn't
come to any harm." Perry stared down at his harp case, fingering the
leather.
"I didn't ask him why he stayed hidden. I thought the answer to that
was
obvious."
</p>
<p>I sighed and set the belt-purse down on the wood-paved floor
with a
jingle. Peering at me nervously through his thick eyelashes, Perry
added,
"He asked me why I sang the Song of the Wounded Man, and I told him. I
also told him about the conversation you and I had on the first night I
heard the song."
</p>
<p>"Thank you," I said sincerely. "I wasn't looking forward to
telling
him about my eavesdropping." Hesitantly I asked, "Did he say anything?"
</p>
<p>"Just that he'd already planned to tell you why he left. I
don't think
he really wanted to talk about—"
</p>
<p>Perry stopped with a characteristic choke, lifting his head to
look
over my shoulder. I looked behind me and saw Andrew standing at the
foot
of the stairs in a pose as straight as the posts that held up the hall
roof. Tongue-bound by the appearance of someone new, Perry scrambled to
his feet and walked toward Andrew, stopping a safe distance away.
Andrew
silently stepped to the side to make way for Perry. After one anxious
look
back at me, Perry lightly climbed the stairs toward our room.
</p>
<p>I was still kneeling beside the belt-purse. Now I rose to my
feet and
concentrated on brushing the dust off my knees as Andrew came forward,
giving a cool look to an inn-maid who had just returned from throwing
out
the slops and was yawning her way to bed. Stopping in front of the
hearth
where Perry and I had been sitting, he picked up the wine bottle we had
been sharing.
</p>
<p>As the maid departed, Andrew gave the bottle a sniff. I
assured him,
"It's wild-berry."
</p>
<p>Andrew lifted one eyebrow over his otherwise motionless face.
"I knew
that Perry had the power to enchant his listeners, but not to the
extent
of persuading Daxions to enjoy Koretian wine." He pulled a cup off the
mantel and said as he poured the wine, "I think I have managed to
persuade
the innkeeper that I'm not planning to cut your throats during the
night,
though it couldn't have been my appearance that reassured her. I've
never
had the sort of looks which comforted people as to my kindly
intentions."
</p>
<p>"Well," I said, "actions are often a better indicator of
purpose than
appearances are."
</p>
<p>Andrew shifted his gaze briefly my way before looking back at
the cup,
which he lifted to his lips and held there, not touching the drink.
When
it became clear he would not reply, I added, "Perry said that you had
some
trouble finding us."
</p>
<p>"To find your location in the end, I had to resort to the
humiliating
deed of bribing one of the Prince's spies," Andrew said. "Double
espionage
is a game I've played more than once myself, but I hate corrupting
others
into the practice."
</p>
<p>A ball in my throat made it hard for me to swallow before
saying, "The
Prince knows where we are?"
</p>
<p>"The Prince," said Andrew carefully, "probably has a map in
his room,
marking every inn you've stayed in since you left the capital. It's not
hard to trace the movements of a mutilated man and his slave-woman
companion
when you can call upon the resources of all your spies – and it appears
from what my informant told me that the Prince has assigned every spy
in
his land the task of tracking you."
</p>
<p>I sighed, flinging myself back against the fire-warm
hearthstones. "What
pitiful spies Perry and I make. But why hasn't the Prince made more
than
one attempt to capture us?"
</p>
<p>"Because Perry, while a poor spy, is a valuable escort. The
Jackal made
it widely known long ago that he would slay with his own claws anyone
who
harmed Perry. The Prince must have been exceedingly desperate to try to
capture you even that once."
</p>
<p>I took the untouched drink from his hand, and he let it go
without resisting
my move. Having swallowed a sufficient quantity of liquid to burn away
my fear, I said, "And what do we do now that the Prince has become
desperate?"
</p>
<p>"Hope that he has enough sense left in him not to try to
capture the
Koretian Ambassador," Andrew replied. He leaned closer to the glowing
embers
of the fire; the faint light trickled off his clothes. The whole time
we
had been at the Jackal's palace, Andrew had worn nothing other than the
trader's tunic in which I had first seen him. Now, for the first time,
I saw him wearing a high nobleman's tunic: as plain and dusky grey as
the
previous tunic, but made of a fine linen and edged with gold. His
dagger
hilt and sheath were made of elegantly-carved bone – the same dagger I
had seen him wear on our final meeting, four months before.
</p>
<p>Andrew said, "I entered this land openly, bearing the Jackal's
royal
badge. The Jackal is sworn to avenge anyone who harms the bearer of
that
badge. I know that such a threat didn't work in Perry's case, but the
Prince
appears to have a peculiar fear of me. In any case, there would be
grave
consequences for his negotiations with Koretia if he were to touch the
Jackal's Ambassador."
</p>
<p>"Are the negotiations continuing?" I asked with surprise.
</p>
<p>"They must. The only alternative is war." Andrew moved out of
the shadows
where he had placed himself and ducked down to kneel beside the embers
of the fire. "The Prince is proving himself a much more moderate
negotiator
than his uncle. He and the Jackal have been working out a compromise
whereby
the two lands will jointly own the mountain; something similar to the
arrangement
between Koretia and Emor, whereby their border mountains are claimed by
neither land. The trouble is, the Prince continues to insist that any
final
peace settlement include your return."
</p>
<p>I shook my head. "This is beyond me. Just three months ago I
was a slave-servant,
barely noted. Now the fate of two lands depends on me. Perhaps I ought
to give myself up to the Prince in order to prevent war."
</p>
<p>"I wouldn't recommend that," Andrew said in the same neutral,
passionless
voice he had used in the Jackal's Council. "My belief has long been
that
the only way to bring peace is to serve the gods. I suspect that the
Prince
is avoiding some sort of service to the Song Spirit. Until we know what
the forbidden song is about, we can't be sure that your death would
bring
peace."
</p>
<p>"And if it would?" I gave him a half-smile, for I was finding
it surprisingly
easy to talk of such matters with this blunt-spoken man. "You wouldn't
stand in my way then?"
</p>
<p>"I never try to stop anyone who wishes to offer up his
sacrifice," Andrew
replied quietly, "but I don't have John's instincts for
self-immolation.
I like to be absolutely sure that the god is demanding my sacrifice
before
I give it. Unless you receive a certain sign from the Song Spirit that
she wishes your death, then it is with your life that she will want you
to serve her."
</p>
<p>He leaned toward the ashes and wrote the name of the Song
Spirit there.
As his blackened fingertip paused in its task, I asked, "What sort of
signs
do you seek when you decide what to do?"
</p>
<p>"Others have asked me that before." Andrew kept his head bowed
over
his dust-grey ash-slate, wiping it smooth to write again. "The simple
answer
is that I follow my instincts for what would help my friends – not help
them in the short term, not help one of them at the expense of others,
but help them to bring about good in a way that I know they would want
if they could see the matter clearly enough. All of my friends are the
type of people who are willing to sacrifice their comfort in order to
serve
others." He swept his hand suddenly over the ashes. In the moment
before
he did so, I saw that he had written my name.
</p>
<p>"I suppose I learned that from John," he added. "Even when we
were children,
he had a way of gently forcing me to do things which would hurt me a
great
deal but which would also strengthen me. I've found that training
useful
over the years."
</p>
<p>"Perhaps that was why he sent Perry and me into Daxis," I
said, treading
carefully around the topic in my mind. "I thought at the time he was
doing
it to keep us safe and to allow Perry the chance to sing to a receptive
audience. But the Jackal must have known that the Prince would track us
down here. Somehow, he must have thought we would benefit from our
frightening
experiences here."
</p>
<p>Andrew drew back from the ashes, wiping his palm upon his
dust-grey
tunic. "John usually has more than one reason for the things he does,"
he said. "It was his idea that I should take the royal badge."
</p>
<p>My breath caught in my throat. After a moment, I said flatly,
"He was
manipulating you."
</p>
<p>"As I said, I've learned a lot from John." Andrew stood up and
leaned
against the mantel, his eyes now steady upon mine. "The Jackal
generally
gets what he wants in the end, and I've long since reconciled myself to
that fact. If he wanted us to meet again, I'm willing to obey his
wishes
in that matter. But he wouldn't demand more of me than that. I want you
to realize that I'm not planning to go further than that. I'll see you
safely to Emor, but please don't expect anything more from me."
</p>
<p>"Andrew—" I stopped and quickly turned to place the wine cup
on the
chair behind me, where Perry had sat. I took the moment to steady my
voice
before turning and saying, "I believe in leaving people free to make
their
own choices as well. Whatever you decide to do with your life is up to
you. I won't try to force you to do something you don't want."
</p>
<p>Andrew made no reply, but as I watched, he reached his hand
out to touch
the mantel, and his hip swung slightly to one side so that he was no
longer
as rigid as a pole. The lines in his face also gentled, though his
expression
remained as unreadable as before. He said, in his usual,
carefully-trained
voice, "I suspect that Perry was in John's thoughts also. Perry and I
have
gone on long missions before, though none as long as this. John may
have
thought that Perry would derive some comfort from having me here, since
he can't have John."
</p>
<p>"There was also the dream—" I stopped.
</p>
<p>Andrew nodded. "I know. That is, I know as much as John
thought it necessary
for me to know, and I asked that he not tell me the rest. John says
that
I'll remember the rest of the dream when it's fulfilled. I'd rather not
worry about which direction the gods are driving me until that happens.
I'm no mystic like John; visions of the future simply frighten me, and
they generally don't help me to know what to do."
</p>
<p>"The dream frightened Perry also," I murmured.
</p>
<p>Andrew walked over to one of the shuttered windows and opened
it up,
so that cold moonlight poured into the room. Standing unmoved under the
force of the hot summer wind, he said, "I know that Perry dreamed he
would
lose John. But John is no fatalist. He has used his godly powers often
enough to know that precognitions such as that dream are tricky to
interpret.
He says that the actions of the four of us will determine in what way
Perry
loses him, whether permanently or temporarily. The gods, he says, force
no one to make sacrifices, though we may not always recognize the
moments
at which we make our sacrifices."
</p>
<p>"In that case," I said, "why did he send Perry to Daxis in the
beginning?
Why not keep him in Koretia, if that's where Perry wanted to be?"
</p>
<p>Andrew shook his head, turning to face me. His dark hair shone
silver
in the light, while his face was once more dusky with shadow. "It's a
delicate
balance, one that only a god-man would have the wisdom to determine.
The
gods wouldn't have sent us the dream if they didn't want us to act in
some
way. John is doing his best to fulfill the will of the gods without
taking
away Perry's choice in the matter. John is certain that Perry will have
a choice in the end; what he is more worried about is failing to
fulfill
some command that the gods have sent to us. If there is one thing that
John fears in his life, it is disobeying what his god tells him to do."
</p>
<p>"But he needn't worry about such a thing," I said. "You and I
might
disobey the god, but John—" I stopped, suddenly remembering something
John
had said in passing when I spoke to him in his palace dungeon.
</p>
<p>Andrew moved so that he was facing the light once more. The
look in
his eye told me that I had guessed right. He said softly, "One thing
Perry
doesn't know and must never know. John and Perry and I received that
dream
on three successive nights: first John, then me, then Perry. Between
the
time that John dreamed and the time that Perry dreamed, John
deliberately
disobeyed the god for the first and probably last time in his life: he
spoke to Perry when the god had forbidden him to, in a misguided
attempt
to ease Perry's fear that he would lose John to me. That night Perry
received
his dream, and it was absolutely identical to John's dream except for
one
thing: John did not dream that Perry would lose him."
</p>
<p>I drew my cloak closer around me in an attempt to stop my
shivering.
"What are you saying? That the god punished John for speaking to Perry
by ordaining that John and Perry would one day be separated?"
</p>
<p>"That's one way to express it," said Andrew. "Another way is
to say
that John changed Perry's future. I don't suppose that any of us will
ever
know how, but in some manner, John's disobedience changed events so
that
Perry will one day have to leave John. That's why John has been very
careful
ever since then not to make matters worse by fighting against the
foreshadow
of the dream. That's why he sent Perry with you to Daxis, even though
he
knew that he might never see Perry again."
</p>
<p>I bowed my head, seeing in my mind an image of John placing
Perry into
my care, though his eyes were filled with pain. I said, "He ought to
hate
me for taking Perry from him, yet he spoke to me with great kindness."
</p>
<p>"You're a difficult person to hate, Serva." The softness of
Andrew's
voice drew my gaze up. He was standing full in the light now, his eyes
once more steady on mine. "You ought to know that by now. John and
Perry
and
I all welcomed you into our lives, though we knew that you would bring
us pain, because we could see what sort of person you are. Even the
Prince,
though he has evidently regarded you as a threat for many years, has
hesitated
to kill you – and he usually does not hesitate in such matters. I don't
know what sort of woman you are, that your song can cause foreign spies
to risk their lives for you, or a foreign ruler to gamble his land's
peace
for you, or a scheming prince to keep his blade sheathed. But I would
very
much like to know what secret that forbidden song holds, so that I can
understand why you are the only person I have met in the Three Lands
whose
mystery I cannot penetrate."
</p>
<p>And he continued to watch me as I stood in the shadows of the
hall.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The dying notes of Perry's song were swallowed up by a thunder
of applause.
Reaching for another dirty dish, I paused to listen to the appreciative
crowd in the nearby hall; then I plunged the dish into the water and
began
scraping off the food.
</p>
<p>Thanks to the gold coins in Andrew's thigh-pocket, we did not
lack for
money these days. Yet it seemed only courteous for me to continue to
offer
my services at inns where we stayed, since Andrew could now watch over
Perry while he was singing. The innkeepers seemed eager to reject my
services;
I gathered, from what they said, that Perry's reputation as a bard had
run ahead of us on our journey, so that even his slave was considered
an
exalted creature, too fine for such low work. But I had laughed away
their
rejections, insisting on helping. If nothing else, washing dishes gave
me long hours alone to contemplate what to do about Andrew.
</p>
<p>On the surface, nothing seemed to have changed since his
arrival. We
had encountered no more trouble on the road; perhaps Andrew's
reputation
had run ahead of us as well. As we walked, Perry and Andrew and I
discussed
together the journey to Emor and what lay ahead for us in that northern
land. I practiced speaking Emorian with Andrew, who spoke the language
like a native, and with Perry, who spoke the language like a native
within
a week. When we grew tired of the topic of Emor, we would switch to the
topic of Perry's singing, and Perry and I would sing together. Andrew
never
joined in with that singing; by now, I knew why.
</p>
<p>We were acting, all three of us, as though nothing had
happened back
at the Jackal's palace: as though I did not know of Andrew's true
nature,
and that he did not know I wished to marry him. It was an uneasy,
silent
truce. I was beginning to brace myself for the inevitable moment when
one
of us would break the truce.
</p>
<p>Or perhaps Andrew said nothing because there was nothing to
say. It
had been months since I had overheard him speak with passion about me.
Could it be that his longing for me had simply waned?
</p>
<p>"Excuse me."
</p>
<p>Startled, I let the dish drop in the soapy water; from the
sound it
made as it reached the bottom of the metal trough, I had cracked the
dish.
My heart beat hard as I swung round, but I relaxed again as I saw who
stood
at the doorway. It was a young man I had sighted earlier in the
evening,
listening intently to Perry's music while drinking cider in the singing
hall. He had caught my eye because he wore his farmers' hat indoors and
because I thought there was something familiar about him. I had
concluded
that he must have followed us from the previous inn. That happened
sometimes,
with the most popular bards: listeners would trail them from inn to
inn,
worshipping every note the bards sang. It was the first time it had
happened
to Perry; I was looking forward to telling him.
</p>
<p>The young man hovered hesitantly at the doorway. "You're his
servant,
aren't you? The bard's?"
</p>
<p>I immediately warmed to him; few people were so kind as to
refer to
slave-servants as servants. "Yes, that's me, sir," I admitted
cheerfully.
"Did you have a message for him?" If the young man was as attached to
Perry's
music as I surmised, it was hardly surprising if he was too shy to
approach
Perry directly with his compliments.
</p>
<p>"You're wet," the young man said, seemingly irrelevantly.
</p>
<p>I looked down at myself. When I had dropped the dish, water
had spattered
all over the front of my tunic and the shift underneath, turning them
translucent.
</p>
<p>I was still contemplating this – and not yet contemplating the
full
implications of my change of costume – when I became aware that the
young
man was now standing in front of me. I took a step back.
</p>
<p>This, I would reflect later, was the most foolish decision I
could have
made on a journey of foolish decisions.
</p>
<p>That single step brought me up hard against the trough, which
was set
in the corner of the room. The young man closed the distance
immediately.
He said huskily, "You're very beautiful."
</p>
<p>Oh, dear. So it hadn't been Perry he was following after all.
</p>
<p>"Thank you," I said briskly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I
believe that
my master has need of me—"
</p>
<p>He paid no attention. He took another step forward; his body
was pressed
against mine now, and he was breathing heavily. "I like your hair," he
said as he grasped the trough on both sides of me.
</p>
<p>He was somewhat more courtly than the last man who had
approached me
this way, but I was hardly listening. I could feel the panic rising in
me, and I clamped down upon it. Weapons. I needed weapons.
</p>
<p>It was then that I noticed the blade on my captor's belt.
</p>
<p>He had not yet unsheathed it. Perhaps he had thought he did
not need
to. After all, I was a helpless woman and a slave.
</p>
<p>I was a woman, and here in Daxis I was considered a slave, but
I was
far from helpless. This was the third attempted attack on my virtue,
leaving
aside the Prince's efforts to capture me. I had no intention of letting
this be the first successful rape.
</p>
<p>So I used the weapon I had. I'd never unsheathed it before,
but I knew
well enough how it worked. Any slave-girl over a certain age knows how
to wield that particular weapon.
</p>
<p>"You're very handsome," I said in a grudging voice. Too quick
a change
in mood would be suspicious. "What's your name?"
</p>
<p>He hesitated before saying, "Lytton."
</p>
<p>"Lytton." I purred the name. "Lytton, could you wipe off my
tunic? It's
far too wet."
</p>
<p>Lytton's eyes widened as he stared down at my tunic, where my
breasts
were pressing against his chest, their only barrier the translucent
tunic.
Down was not where I wanted him to be looking. Stepping up on my toes,
I pulled his head into my kiss.
</p>
<p>I didn't know whether it was a good kiss. I had very little
practice
in such matters. There was just the kiss that Richard had forced upon
me,
as well the kiss I'd given Andrew— I set aside that thought quickly,
sliding
my right arm around Lytton's back.
</p>
<p>With my left hand, I unsheathed his blade.
</p>
<p>He was not too absorbed in the kiss to fail to notice the loss
of his
dagger, but he was too late. By the time he jerked back, I had the
dagger
in hand, pointed at him. "Step away," I said.
</p>
<p>Even to my own ears, my voice sounded dangerous. Lytton
gulped. "I –
I didn't mean—"
</p>
<p>"Step away." My voice was higher this time. If he chose to
fight me
for the dagger, I had no idea what to do. I had plunged my blade into a
soldier in the heat of battle, and long ago I had killed the first man
who tried to rape me, but I couldn't imagine killing this foolish,
love-sick
youth in cold blood.
</p>
<p>He was still hesitating when the choice was taken from him.
</p>
<p>It all happened in a blur. In the confusion, I dropped the
dagger, which
went skittering under the trough. It didn't matter. In another moment,
the blur had resolved itself into a tableau: Andrew sitting on the
backside
of Lytton. With one hand, Andrew held Lytton's wrists in his grasp;
with
the other hand, Andrew held his dagger-point against the back of
Lytton's
neck.
</p>
<p>Lytton was panting, his eyes wide. His hat had fallen off,
revealing
strips of linen around his head. Seeing this, I blinked, puzzled.
</p>
<p>Andrew said to my attacker in his cold voice, "Stay still, if
you value
your life. Madam, would you be so kind as to pull up the edge of his
tunic?"
</p>
<p>I was the only possible "madam" in the room, so I knelt down
next to
Lytton's legs and asked, "What am I looking for?"
</p>
<p>"A thigh-pocket. See if you can slip it off him. Be careful;
there will
be a thigh-dagger in it."
</p>
<p>Lytton made a protesting sound. I carefully pulled up the hem
of the
tunic, doing my best to preserve his modesty – only later would I
realize
the irony of this. Then I reported, "There's no thigh-pocket on either
leg."
</p>
<p>"Check his boots."
</p>
<p>This was more difficult, but after a minute I reported,
"Nothing. The
boots don't even have any hidden pockets."
</p>
<p>Silence. I stole a look at Andrew. From where I knelt,
Andrew's back
was to me; I could not see his face, only Lytton's, which had grown
slick
with sweat as he stared sideways at his captor.
</p>
<p>Andrew said quietly, "Madam, if you would step outside—"
</p>
<p>"No! Leave him alone!"
</p>
<p>My reaction was instinctive. As Andrew had spoken, there had
flashed
into my memory the last occasion when Andrew had asked that I "look
away."
Seconds after I had complied with his request, a dead man had lain at
my
feet.
</p>
<p>That had been when Andrew and I were fleeing for our lives
from Daxis;
Andrew had possessed little choice but to kill the lieutenant who had
been
trying to kill him and capture me. This was a very different situation.
I couldn't have said why, but I knew that it was.
</p>
<p>Not awaiting an answer from Andrew, I crawled forward till I
was close
to Lytton's head. His eyes followed me. I could see now that the linen
strips on his head were covering an old wound. I reached out and
touched
his head. He made a noise, softer this time.
</p>
<p>I said slowly, "I remember you now. You were the soldier at
Rosetta's
gathering, on the night she was killed. All of her guests were supposed
to have been killed. The Prince did this to you?"
</p>
<p>He hung on my every word, as he had upon Perry's singing.
Hesitantly,
he replied, "Subcaptain Derek did it, on the King's orders. The Prince
apologized to me afterwards for not countermanding the order. He raised
me in rank and made me his orderly."
</p>
<p>And had successfully won back the young man's loyalty, it
seemed. Inwardly
cursing the Prince for yet another successful seduction, I said, "He
ordered
you to kill me? Or just to capture me?" And ravish me also, but perhaps
that had not been part of the Prince's plans. Perhaps it had not even
been
part of Lytton's plans, till he saw my translucent tunic and decided to
take advantage of the moment.
</p>
<p>But Lytton was shaking his head, as best he could while lying
flat on
the floor. "I overheard Prince Richard talking," he said. "To his
spies.
He wanted them to track you."
</p>
<p>"Just track her?" It was Andrew, inserting himself into the
conversation
for the first time. "Not capture her?"
</p>
<p>Lytton bit his lip briefly. "I'm not sure. I didn't hear that
far. It
had occurred to me that if I captured you . . . It would please the
Prince
. . ."
</p>
<p>And pleasing the Prince was reward enough to this young man;
that was
clear. I bent my head toward him, sure of myself now. "Well, you
tracked
me, didn't you? You discovered where I am. Now you can tell the Prince
that you found me and that I'm on a mission for the Song Spirit. I'm
serving
one of the Spirit's bards now."
</p>
<p>Relief flooded Lytton's face at this news that he would not
die. "Thank
you, Princess," he said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to . . . I didn't
realize,
you see. I didn't realize what you were."
</p>
<p>I was suddenly weary – far too weary to ask him what he meant.
Perhaps
my weariness came from the fact he had called me "Princess," a faint
echo
of Richard's mocking use of that title.
</p>
<p>There was no mockery here, though; that much was clear. I
stood up,
saying, "Thank you, Lord Andrew. You may let him go now."
</p>
<p>To my surprise – for I had half expected Andrew to end the
encounter
with a dagger through Lytton's neck – Andrew promptly followed my
suggestion,
going so far as to help Lytton off the ground. Now looking thoroughly
ashamed
of himself, Lytton muttered another apology and backed out of the room,
returning to the hall.
</p>
<p>Once he was gone, Andrew sheathed his dagger-belt and looked
at me,
lifting his eyebrows. With a brightness I didn't feel, I said, "There,
you see? He wasn't a spy after all. There was no need to kill him."
</p>
<p>"I hadn't planned to kill him," Andrew said quietly.
</p>
<p>"No, just to torture him for information, I suppose."
</p>
<p>Andrew said nothing. Too late, I realized how very
inappropriate such
words were, when addressed to the man who had saved me from a ravishing
and worse. I added quickly, "It's not that I don't think force is
necessary
sometimes. You couldn't have known that he wasn't planning to kill me."
</p>
<p>"No," Andrew replied quietly. "And neither did you, I think,
when you
gave your order for me to leave him alone. I wonder what led you to
that
knowledge?"
</p>
<p>"Order" was such an odd word to describe my impulsive shout
that I simply
stared at him. After a minute, he turned his eyes away abruptly. He
reached
toward a towel and tossed it at me, without looking my way.
</p>
<p>I had forgotten about the translucent tunic. Hastily wrapping
the towel
around my torso like a toga, I said, "You heard us, amidst all the
conversations
in the inn?"
</p>
<p>"I was watching the door to this room; I saw him enter. Not
that you
seem to have needed much assistance, but why didn't you call for help
when
he assaulted you?"
</p>
<p>My mind went suddenly blank. After a moment I said, "I thought
you wouldn't
be able to hear me, amidst the noise."
</p>
<p>Andrew made no reply. He was still avoiding looking at me.
Tying the
towel so that it would not give way, I walked in front of him, asking,
"Are we in danger from the Prince's spies?"
</p>
<p>"Not if the Prince only wants you tracked," Andrew replied. He
was carefully
looking at a point over my head. "If he wants more than that . . .
Although
I had hoped to allow Perry more time in Daxis, I think we had best
speed
up our journey. I'll buy horses for us tomorrow." He turned abruptly
away.
</p>
<p>"Andrew!" I called.
</p>
<p>He hesitated on the threshold to the singing hall, half
looking over
his shoulder. I said softly, "Watch out for Perry too, will you? The
Prince
might decide that the easiest way to capture me would be to hold Perry
hostage."
</p>
<p>"I always watch out for Perry," Andrew replied. "That part is
nothing
new." Without looking at me again, he left the room.
</p>
<p>I returned to my dishes, with yet more to think about.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Perhaps the Royal Bard could sing the Song of Succession at
your peace
conference."
</p>
<p>I looked up from where I had been trying, without much
success, to persuade
a dust-ball to emerge from a corner of our main room in the latest inn.
Perry was sitting on a bench next to the wall, cleaning his harp with
the
aid of some oil that Andrew had bought for him, on my advice. Daylight
flooded into our room, but Perry looked as relaxed as he ever did. If
nothing
else, this long journey had accustomed him to daylight.
</p>
<p>Andrew paused from whetting the bone-hilted blade that the
Chara Peter
had once given him. Cocking his head to one side, he said, "I suppose a
bit of music couldn't hurt."
</p>
<p>"What are you talking about?" I asked, resting my hands upon
the twig-broom.
</p>
<p>"Andrew wants to hold a peace conference," Perry said, dipping
his rag
into the oil.
</p>
<p>"It's an idea I've had for several years now," Andrew
confessed. "A
conference between the Three Lands to discuss matters of mutual
interest,
beyond the trade negotiations and war negotiations that have long taken
place."
</p>
<p>"Do the Three Lands have any matters of mutual interest?" I
asked, my
thoughts floating forward to the harsh disciplinarians who lived in the
north. I still hadn't reconciled myself to living with the Emorians,
however
short my stay might be.
</p>
<p>"Oh, yes," replied Andrew immediately. "I know that their
differences
look great, but from a mainland perspective, the Three Lands have much
more in common than they have in difference."
</p>
<p>He was talking, as he so often did, as though he belonged to
none of
the Three Lands. I knew that he had refused to take an oath of loyalty
to either the Jackal or the Chara, believing that this would interfere
with his ability to serve as a neutral mediator between Koretia and
Emor.
From what Andrew had once told me, though, his lack of roots went
deeper
than that.
</p>
<p>"Do you think your cousin might be willing to attend such a
conference?"
Andrew asked as he went over to slide his blade into its sheathe, which
was lying on my bed.
</p>
<p>I tried to grasp an answer, but it would not come. "I really
don't know.
He's more a soldier than a diplomat, to speak the truth. I suspect that
most of the reason he wants to be King is so that he'll have control
over
the Daxion army. The late King—" I hesitated, unwilling to show
disloyalty
to my father, but fairness to Richard forced me to say, "My father was
forever overruling the Prince on military matters where Richard was
better
qualified to make decisions."
</p>
<p>Andrew nodded as he stepped back from the bed in order to give
me more
space in which to move. "Perhaps he'd be willing to attend a peace
conference
for that reason. Emor has its law-structure and its division of powers,
which Koretia has adopted, though Emor and Koretia disagree on some of
the details. Daxis could adopt something similar to make clear the
division
of powers between the different parts of its government."
</p>
<p>I thought it highly unlikely that a Prince who was on the
point of marrying
his Bard would be concerned about keeping governmental powers properly
divided, but I remained silent, not wishing to quash Andrew's dream. It
was one of the few times I had ever heard him speak of what he wanted,
rather than what he could give – and even the peace conference would be
his gift to the Three Lands.
</p>
<p>Perry was running his fingers over the strings. I recognized
the melody.
It was the melody that occurred in Daxis's three oldest songs: The Tale
of the Song Twins, The Marriage Song, and The Song of Succession.
Realizing
that this was Perry's way of saying that the conversation had strayed
from
the subject he had raised, I said, "I think you're right, Perry. If
Daxis
participated in such a conference, it would want to do so in part
through
its music. Eulalee could sing the beginning of the Song of Succession."
</p>
<p>"She could sing the whole song as far as I'm concerned,"
replied Andrew
as he went over to the table to pour himself some wine. "I've heard she
has a lovely voice."
</p>
<p>Any jealousy I might have felt in response to this remark was
overwhelmed
by the realization that Andrew thought "a bit of music" constituted the
entire Song of Succession. I looked at Perry and saw that he, too, was
struggling not to laugh.
</p>
<p>Andrew set down the wine cup, looking from me to Perry. "I've
made a
joke, it appears. Inform me what it is, so that I can tell the joke
again,
under more appropriate circumstances."
</p>
<p>This caused Perry and me to laugh outright. Wiping tears of
laughter
from my face, I gestured to Perry, who vacated the bench so that I
could
sweep under it. As I bent down to do so, I said, "Andrew, the full Song
of Succession takes three days to sing."
</p>
<p>For once, Andrew's face was quite readable. "God of Mercy," he
said.
"How does the King's Bard manage to persuade her audience to stay still
for it?"
</p>
<p>This sent Perry and me off into another peal of laughter, at
the idea
of a Daxion audience failing to be enthralled by the Song of
Succession.
Andrew gave a wry smile, clearly unoffended at being the ignorant
member
of the conversation.
</p>
<p>Taking pity on him, I said, "The full song isn't sung on most
occasions
– only the Adversaries section that Rosetta tried to sing at her
gathering.
It summarizes the history of the Kings and Queens of Daxis and
describes
in detail the exploits of the last King or Queen – their defenses of
their
subjects. Each time a a Daxion ruler dies, the Bard adds a tribute to
the
previous ruler when she sings at the enthronement of the new ruler.
That's
done before an audience. There must be at least one witness to an
enthronement
– even if it's only a mouse! – or the enthronement isn't valid."
</p>
<p>Straightening up from cleaning under the bench, I swept the
dust into
the fireplace – we were far enough north now that inn-room fireplaces
were
becoming common, though we hadn't yet needed to light one. Andrew
watched,
his whetstone laid aside. I half expected him to offer to help, for he
seemed forever willing to assist in the burdens of other people, no
matter
how common the task. But perhaps he considered this particular task too
womanly to require his help, for he said, "And the forbidden version of
the Song of Succession . . . that would be sung only to the King?"
</p>
<p>I nodded. "That's one of the reasons that the Royal Bard has a
room
that's far away from the others in the palace: so that she can sing
forbidden
songs to the ruler without being heard. Now that Rosetta is dead, only
her apprentice Eulalee knows the forbidden version of the Song of
Succession."
</p>
<p>"And Thome," Perry added, plucking a few more notes from the
song's
melody. We had heard, a few inns before, of Thome's appointment as
Apprentice
to the King's Bard, though presumably his duties would not begin until
there actually <i>was</i> a King.
</p>
<p>"So the forbidden portion of the song is secret," I concluded
as I sat
down on the bench to rest. "Rosetta must have taught Eulalee the
forbidden
passage before she died, or perhaps the Prince did, since my father
told
him of it."
</p>
<p>Perry murmured something. I thought the word he murmured was
"Thome,"
but his voice was overshadowed by Andrew saying, "A forbidden song."
His
eyes met Perry's.
</p>
<p>Perry opened his mouth, then quickly shut it again. I sat up
straight
and looked at Perry, who was sitting by the window. He avoided my eye.
Tingling now with curiosity, I asked him, "Do you know something about
the forbidden song?"
</p>
<p>Perry shook his head. Andrew said gently, "I'm sorry, Serva,
but this
is a matter we can't share with you. It doesn't have to do with Daxis;
I can promise you that. It— Well, Perry told me about the Song of the
Disobedient
Ruler, which he sang for the Prince. Emor has a similar tale, which
links
back to something older. The circumstance under which that 'something
older'
was uncovered is a secret closely kept by the Chara, the Jackal, the
High
Lords of Emor and Koretia, and the Chara's clerk."
</p>
<p>"And you?" I ventured.
</p>
<p>His smile this time was even more wry than before. "And me,
because
I'm a very nosy spy. The Chara considers secrecy on this matter to be
important,
though, so I've vowed not to speak about it to anyone."
</p>
<p>I thought about this. The Chara, the Jackal, the High Lords,
the Chara's
clerk . . . "If this is so important a matter," I mused allowed, "why
hasn't
the Chara spoken of it to any women? Why only men?"
</p>
<p>I looked up to find that Andrew had frozen in place. It took
me a moment
to trace back why. Then I felt irritated. Surely, after all this time,
Andrew knew that I regarded him as a man. After all, he'd had proof
enough
of the effect that he had on me.
</p>
<p>"They can tell their wives." It was Perry, breaking into the
conversation
unexpectedly.
</p>
<p>"Can they?" Andrew turned his head to look at Perry. "I'd
forgotten
that."
</p>
<p>"You were the one who suggested that," Perry reminded him.
"Because
the Chara Peter was still alive then, and you hoped that he and Ursula
would be reconciled. You were worried about the fact that the Chara
shared
so little of his life with Ursula. And Brian spoke up, and he says that
he would like to discuss the matter with his wife, since her father is
an architect, so she might have insight into the place where the
document
was found. And the Jackal says that, although he is unmarried, I am his
daily companion, so he would like to consult with me. So everyone has
agreed
that their wives should be allowed to know the secret – and me, because
the Jackal values me that much."
</p>
<p>Perry had slipped, as he so often did when speaking of the
past, into
recounting the events in the present tense, though this must have been
a meeting that the Jackal told him about later. I bit my lip to keep
from
asking what architecture had to do with an old document that said
something
about a disobedient ruler who lived much later. It was really none of
my
business; I was a bastard slave, not a high official like the Chara's
clerk,
though the Jackal, from exceptional kindness, had allowed me to attend
one of Koretia's council meetings.
</p>
<p>I could speculate, though. If the document had been found in
some Emorian
place of architecture, then it must speak of an Emorian ruler. So
sometime
in the past, one of the Charas had been disobedient. And had been
punished
somehow? I tried to think of what the Emorian equivalent would be of a
King turning deaf.
</p>
<p>I shook my head. Despite all our conversations with Andrew
about his
life in Emor, I still had very little sense of what the Emorians were
like.
His accounts had been dry, telling me of life in the palace, but
nothing
about what it felt like for him to serve as a slave. He had been
cruelly
treated there – I knew that from the state of his back, which still
bore
the scars of his childhood. But he never spoke about that, at least not
to me.
</p>
<p>"Music at the peace conference, then," said Andrew, evidently
trying
to draw us away from the dangerous topic of Emor's secret. "All of the
Three Lands have culture they could contribute to the conference. The
Emorians
put on splendid military parades, while the Koretians—"
</p>
<p>"A Daxion sublieutenant is entering the inn," Perry reported.
</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>He would have said more, but his voice cut off as Andrew and I
rushed
for the window. By the time we reached there, all that was visible was
the back of a grey-uniformed man as he ducked under the lintel of the
entrance
to the inn. I just caught a glimpse of the red hem that denoted his
rank.
Within seconds, footsteps began to make their way up the inn's creaky
stairs.
</p>
<p>Andrew's eyes had gone even colder than usual. He gestured me
back to
where I had sat before: on the bench. Perry remained seated in the
corner,
next to the window. With a few silent steps, Andrew placed himself
against
the wall next to our door.
</p>
<p>He had barely reached there when a knock caused the door to
shudder.
It was not a hammering upon the door, just an ordinary knock. Perry was
gripping his harp with his left hand now as though it were his only
protection,
but I could see that, hidden behind the harp, his right hand had
travelled
down to his sword hilt, in case Andrew should need his help.
</p>
<p>As for myself, I was apparently to play the role of the
innocent victim,
unaware of danger. Andrew nodded at me, and I raised my voice. "Yes?
Come
in, please."
</p>
<p>The door opened, the sublieutenant entered, Perry half rose,
and I cried,
"Don't hurt him!"
</p>
<p>The sublieutenant stared at me and Perry; then he whirled
around.
</p>
<p>Andrew, though, had already begun to slip his thigh-dagger
back into
its pocket. He met the sublieutenant's eyes with a cool expression. "My
apologies," he said. "I didn't recognize you."
</p>
<p>By now, the sublieutenant had sweat on his brow. He managed a
shaky
smile. "I've grown used to your manner of greeting me, Lord Andrew,"
said
Marius.
</p>
<p>I rose from my seat in order to move to a position where I
could better
see the young soldier. Marius had changed very little since he and I
had
first met, during the Daxion attack on the Koretian capital. The
thought
of our first meeting – when he had awkwardly sought to play out the
soldiers'
traditional role of ravishing enemy women – left my chest tight with
memory.
</p>
<p>But that had been only the beginning, I reminded myself
forcefully.
By the end of that night, Marius, Andrew, and I had all been bonded by
our mutual attempts to help each other escape death from fire and water
and sword.
</p>
<p>Andrew – who had come close to skewering Marius for his attack
on me
– glanced my way. Apparently taking his cue from the fact that I wasn't
screaming with rage at my would-be rapist, Andrew said politely to
Marius,
"You remember our companion-in-misfortune, I'm sure. And this is her
bard."
He nodded at Perry, who was now huddled back on his seat, bending over
his harp in an evident effort to pretend that a stranger hadn't entered
our rooms.
</p>
<p>Andrew, I noticed, was taking great care not to identify who
Perry and
I were. It was no use, though; Marius immediately said to me, in an
awkward
tone, "All this way north I have heard about the travels of you and the
bard Perry, Princess. It has been like tracing the path of two
legends."
</p>
<p>"Marius, do sit down." Remembering now how Marius had chastely
held
me in the moat, preventing me from drowning, I took Marius's hand and
pulled
him onto a stool, seating myself again on the nearby bench. "There's no
need to 'Princess' me; we know each other better than that. You come
from
the capital, then? I hoped you had made it back to our army safely."
</p>
<p>"What Serva means," added Andrew, going over to stand by the
window,
"is that she badgered Subcommander Brendon day and night about your
safety,
until the Jackal questioned your Koretian escort to the border and
satisfied
himself and her that you had been properly escorted to safety."
</p>
<p>"Thank you, Princess – Serva, I mean." Marius sounded doubtful
as he
spoke my name, as though he expected the Song Spirit to strike him dead
for presumption. "I can assure you that the Koretian lieutenant carried
out his escort duty properly. My trouble began when I reached the
Daxion
army."
</p>
<p>I exchanged mystified looks with Perry, who had been peering
up from
his harp during this recital. Andrew said in a matter-of-fact manner,
"I
feared that might be the case. They thought the special escort meant
that
you'd turned traitor?"
</p>
<p>Marius shrugged, then apparently felt the shrug wasn't answer
enough,
for he said, "When we reached headquarters again, I was questioned by
the
lieutenant of my unit. He sent me to his subcaptain for further
questioning,
and then I was passed on to the captain of our division . . .
Eventually,
I ended up in the Prince's hut. I told him everything I knew, which
wasn't
much. But I did know your name by then, Lord Andrew. When I told him
that
you'd been kissed by a Daxion woman in a slave-tunic, and that her name
was Serva . . . Well, he threw his dagger."
</p>
<p>Perry winced. Appalled, I said, "At you?"
</p>
<p>Marius gave a flicker of a smile. "At the door of his hut. But
I was
far too close to the door; I was scared stiff that his next act would
be
to send me to the torturers."
</p>
<p>I sighed. "Nonsense. His next act was to seduce you."
</p>
<p>Andrew raised his eyebrows again. Perry emitted something that
might
have been a breathless giggle.
</p>
<p>It took Marius a moment to realize what I meant; then he
chuckled as
well. "You seem to know the Prince well. Yes, he bribed me; he told me
that, to save his cousin's reputation, he wished me to remain silent
about
what I'd seen. Then he raised my rank, as you see. He assigned me
duties
in the headquarters – I suppose so that he could keep an eye on me. He
needn't have gone to the trouble." Now indignation coated Marius's
words;
he had straightened his spine. "I was loyal to him; I wouldn't have
betrayed
him."
</p>
<p>This time I did not dare exchange looks with Perry, nor with
Andrew.
All of us, I was sure, were thinking the same thing: that Marius had
betrayed
his oath of loyalty by coming here and telling us this.
</p>
<p>All this while, Andrew had been glancing out the window. Now
he murmured,
"A man is watching this inn. He's in the shadows; I can't see him
clearly.
—A friend of yours?" he asked Marius.
</p>
<p>Marius shook his head. "It must be one of the Prince's spies.
I've heard
rumors that he had sent spies out to track the Princess. . . . There
are
all sorts of rumors in the palace about you. They say that you and the
bard Perry turned up at the palace a few months ago, and that you
ordered
your bard to sing a song that condemned the Prince as a usurper, and
that
the Prince tried to catch you, but you slipped away through
enchantments
from the Song Spirit."
</p>
<p>"Through sheer luck, you might have said." My voice was dry,
but I was
shaken by what he had said, which sounded so close to a song that I
might
indeed have thought that Perry and I were entering into the realm of
legend.
</p>
<p>Marius wasn't finished, though. "The rumors say that you're
building
an army against the Prince and will overthrow him, so that you can
choose
a suitable husband for the throne. That's what some of the rumors say.
The others say that you're an innocent maiden, and that you're fleeing
from the Prince, rather than be ravished and killed by him. And yet
another
tale—" He stopped abruptly.
</p>
<p>"Go on," said Andrew. He was continuing to watch through the
window,
but he seemed as absorbed as Perry and I in this news from the palace.
</p>
<p>Marius cleared his throat. "Well. There are tales everywhere,
you know.
I've heard that the servants in the palace are so stirred up – both the
slave-servants and the free-servants – that they're on the point of
refusing
to work unless the Prince allows you to go free."
</p>
<p><i>"What?"</i> I was on my feet now. "Marius, that
tale can't be true.
The other slaves at the palace hate me, and I scarcely know any of the
free-servants—"
</p>
<p>"Perhaps you have become a symbol to them of their own
uneasiness about
the Prince's rule," suggested Andrew. "But we might gain further
insight
into this conflict if Marius would tell us about the other tale he
heard,
the one he mentioned a minute ago. Marius?"
</p>
<p>Marius darted a glance at me. "I— It's a song. You wouldn't
want me
to bore you with my poor singing voice."
</p>
<p>"You could recite it, if you wanted," I suggested, but as I
said this,
Perry ran a protesting hand across his strings.
</p>
<p>In the end, Marius sang the song to us. That was how Andrew
and Perry
and I heard the latest version of the Tale of the Spy and the Princess.
</p>
<p>By the time that Marius was through singing, my face was
burning hot.
I dared not look in Andrew's direction. Perry was plucking at his
strings,
working out a proper accompaniment to the song.
</p>
<p>It was Andrew who finally broke the silence. "It seems that
Serva's
flight has stirred up a good deal more interest among the Daxion palace
dwellers than we might have expected. Is that how you knew where to
find
us?"
</p>
<p>Marius hesitated before answering. He was looking abashed
after singing
the song, and he was watching me out of the corner of his eye. So far
he
had avoided looking directly at Perry, but that didn't surprise me. Few
people looked at Perry when they were in close quarters with him.
</p>
<p>Finally, Marius said, "Not entirely. I heard the Prince— Well,
I shouldn't
have been listening, but all these rumors had me worried, so I listened
whenever I was near his hut, and that's how— Well, it was chance that I
heard, really."
</p>
<p>"That you heard what?" Andrew's voice was admirably patient.
As for
myself, I was gripping my seat in anticipation.
</p>
<p>"About the boy bard."
</p>
<p>Perry's head went up. He and I looked at each other before I
cleared
my throat and said, "Thome?"
</p>
<p>"I don't know his name. The Prince said that he'd trained with
Eulalee
the Prince's Bard for several weeks, but that he'd ridden home
recently.
The Prince said that he'd given the boy strict instructions to tell no
one. I heard him say this to Baroness Eulalee when they were talking in
his hut."
</p>
<p>"Tell no one about what?"
</p>
<p>Andrew's voice was an edge less patient this time. Marius
flinched.
"I don't know! It seemed to be something that he and his Bard had
talked
about before. He didn't bother to name what it was he was hiding."
</p>
<p>I looked at Andrew and Perry. None of us needed to say it
aloud; it
was clear from their expressions that they were thinking the same thing
I was.
</p>
<p>The forbidden version of the Song of Succession, which my
father had
killed his own Bard to keep secret. Eulalee likely knew the forbidden
song
already. And she, in the tradition of Royal Bards, had now passed on
her
secret to her new apprentice.
</p>
<p>"Andrew," I said slowly, "Thome lives near here. His nurse
Flavia told
me."
</p>
<p>Marius nodded. "That's what I heard the Prince say: that your
travels
would take you close to the boy bard. I didn't hear him say anything
more;
his orderly Lytton became aware that I was listening, and he made me
move
on. But I was worried . . ."
</p>
<p>His voice trailed off. I sat a moment in silence, taking it
all in.
Lytton had made it safely back to the capital, presumably passing on my
message to the Prince: my refusal to return home. The Prince, though,
was
apparently concerned that I would stumble across the secret of the
forbidden
song – concerned enough that he was continuing to have his spies track
me.
</p>
<p>Perry played a snatch of a tune on his harp. After a moment, I
recognized
it as an old song about a murderer killing the witnesses to his murder.
</p>
<p>"Yes," said Andrew, as though Perry had spoken. "And until we
know what
words King Leofwin considered worth murdering for, we can't know
whether
Serva will be safe if she reaches Emor. Marius," he said, returning his
attention to the soldier. "The Prince has his spies watching Serva and
very likely watching me as well. But he may not regard Perry as worth
worrying
about. If Serva and I were to distract the spies by taking a walk
together
in the town, could you escort Perry to Thome's residence? —Would Thome
talk to Perry?" This question was addressed to me.
</p>
<p>"I think so," I said slowly. "He and Flavia helped us last
time. . .
. But it's hard to be sure. He has been Eulalee's apprentice for the
past
few weeks, and the Prince . . . The Prince has a terrible gift for
seducing
people to take his side in conflicts."
</p>
<p>"But not an infallible gift, it seems." Andrew's gaze drifted
over to
Marius.
</p>
<p>Marius ducked his head. After a minute, he sucked in his
breath and
said, "I know that this is the most blatant disloyalty. I've thought
about
it as I was riding here, telling myself I should return to
headquarters.
I'm officially on leave to visit my family, so I don't think anyone
will
guess what I've done, but . . ."
</p>
<p>"Marius." I took his hands into mine again. "I can't say how
the Song
Spirit will treat your act, much less the Prince if he discovers what
he
has done. All I can say is thank you. Andrew and I owe our lives to you
twice over now."
</p>
<p>"That's just it," Marius whispered. "The Song Spirit . . . She
was watching
over the three of us that night. I can't believe that she means for you
to be harmed. And the servants in the palace . . . They feel it too.
There's
something wrong in the way that the Prince continues to pursue you,
even
though he's endangering his chances of being confirmed King by the
council.
He's hiding something from all of us. Something important."
</p>
<p>"With your help," said Andrew as he tossed Perry's hooded
cloak to our
bard, "we may find out today what that something is."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I'm really not sure how we're going to walk through a town of
this
sort," I said.
</p>
<p>It was early afternoon now, not long after we had completed
our conversation
with Marius; the sunlight beat hard upon us. Conveyed by the swift
horses
that Andrew had bought for us, Andrew and Perry and I had spent the
past
week travelling beyond the arid stretches of central Daxis into
northern
Daxis, following the road that ran alongside the Chaparral River.
Applevale,
the valley town where we were staying, occurred at the junction of
Chaparral
River with Tuning Run, which ran east toward Daxis's mountain border
with
Koretia.
</p>
<p>Applevale was an island. In fact, it was a conglomeration of
many islands,
for the town was crisscrossed with waterways that were travelled by
boat.
These served as the town's "roads."
</p>
<p>"The town has bridges," Andrew pointed out, but even as he
spoke, he
hailed a boatman poling his way down the river.
</p>
<p>The boatman immediately stopped. There was a low-voiced
discussion between
Andrew and the boatman which involved the passing of money from hand to
hand. This affair concluded, the boatman jumped out of the long, narrow
boat and walked away, whistling a cheery tune. Andrew glanced at
something
behind me; I wondered whether he was glimpsing one of the spies who
were
tracking us. Then Andrew stepped into the boat and offered me his hand.
</p>
<p>"This boat is the boatman's livelihood, you know," I said as I
carefully
settled myself in the seat at the front of the boat. "How did you
persuade
him to give it up?"
</p>
<p>"Why wouldn't one boatman help out another, if one of the
boatmen wanted
to take his lady out on a day when his boat was in for repairs?"
</p>
<p>Andrew's voice was so light that I could not tell what lay
behind his
words. Instead, I watched for a minute as he pushed us along with the
pole,
swinging one hand over the other in a smooth fashion. Finally I asked,
"Is there <i>anything</i> you can't do?"
</p>
<p>Too late, I realized how he might take this remark. If he was
aware
of that interpretation, he chose to ignore it, instead giving me one of
his rare, faint smiles. "Many things, actually. Which way would you
like
to go?"
</p>
<p>We were approaching a bridge; beyond it, the riverway split,
part of
it going north, part east. I pointed toward the east, for no reason
other
than the fact that I could hear singing in that direction.
</p>
<p>The wooden houses were built right up next to the water, upon
stilts
that sunk into the wetland skirting the water. I turned my head to
watch
as we passed paved squares – triangles, actually – filled with children
playing, mothers hanging up their wash, and men resting and talking in
the noonday sun. It was pleasant scenery, filled with leisure, very
different
from the bustle I was used to in the capital region. I found myself
wondering
what life was like in the southwestern marshes, the gulf islands of the
far southeast, and the coasts along the Western and Southern Oceans,
these
three areas being the only parts of Daxis we would not visit on our
journey.
</p>
<p>I came awake from my daydreaming as we reached the source of
the singing:
an island within the cluster of islands, where men and women and
children
sat, listening to bards sing. None of the bards were as fine as Perry.
I wondered whether Perry would return to the inn in time to astonish
his
listening audience, as he had in every inn where he'd sung.
</p>
<p>The singing island slipped by, and suddenly, without warning,
we were
in the countryside. I straightened up, looking around. We were headed
toward
the range of mountains that divide Daxis from Koretia. Already the land
was rising into foothills, with the river nestled into a narrow valley.
I could see no sign of anyone except us.
</p>
<p>"The spies are going to have a hard time tracking us," I said,
looking
back at the stretch of water we had rapidly passed.
</p>
<p>"I don't intend to make it easy for them," Andrew agreed.
"We've come
far enough that I think we can afford to pause for a bit. What's in the
basket?"
</p>
<p>As Andrew steered us toward the bank, lush with greenery, I
opened the
wicker basket that our innkeeper had kindly prepared for us. Her slaves
had packed us bread and cheese and figs, along with a sealed bottle of
cider.
</p>
<p>I handed the cider to Andrew, who glanced at the label. I
thought his
gaze lingered upon the label, but he pulled out his thigh-dagger and
removed
the bottle's seal with efficiency. He handed the bottle back to me.
</p>
<p>I took a long draft of it. It was of a variety of apple that
was tart,
rather than sweet – refreshing on a warm day like this. After glancing
at the bottle to check the origins of the cider – it turned out to be
imported
from a place called "Peaktop Orchard" in Emor – I tilted my head back
to
look at the puffy clouds soaring idly over us, too small to provide
much
shade. Blue and green insects with slender long bodies, as bright as
gems
on a harp, hovered in the air. On stones upon the bank, dark grey
reptiles
sat. Their backs were covered with what looked like bowl-shaped
shields,
but their behavior was distinctly unwarlike – they were sunning
themselves
lazily.
</p>
<p>Andrew had finished apportioning out the food, so I handed the
bottle
back to him. He stared at it, as though not sure what to do with it.
</p>
<p>"Don't you drink cider?" I asked.
</p>
<p>His eyes flicked toward me, and I was suddenly reminded of the
look
he had given me back in the Jackal's palace, when I had drunk from his
wine cup without asking. I said, "Is there a Koretian custom that
forbids
people from sharing drinks?"
</p>
<p>"No." He contemplated the bottle a moment more before saying
abruptly,
"I am a coward."
</p>
<p>I could only gape at this manifestly untrue statement. Andrew
looked
down at the water, which was so clear that the rocks shone brightly
upon
the river bed. Small fish darted through the water, clustering close
together.
Along the banks, shrubs sent up a sweet smell. Somewhere in hiding,
birds
called out to each other.
</p>
<p>At last Andrew said, "In Emor, to share wine out of the same
cup . .
. It is like bonding yourself to a blood brother. It is that deep an
indication
of friendship."
</p>
<p>It took me a full minute to find the courage to say, "You
already shared
your blood with me, when we were close to drowning in the moat."
</p>
<p>"Yes." Andrew's gaze rose toward the mountains soaring sharp
above the
landscape, like the teeth of the Jackal God. At last, without looking
my
way, he drank from the bottle.
</p>
<p>Tall grasses swayed in the light breeze. The water rocked the
boat gently.
We silently ate our food. The breeze dried the sweat on my body.
</p>
<p>Finally, Andrew said, "I think we must have lost our spies.
Shall we
go further? Or would you rather head back to town?"
</p>
<p>I glanced at the sky. It was still only mid-afternoon; we
could not
expect Perry to return any earlier than supper. "Let's go a bit
further,"
I said. "I've never been in the countryside before."
</p>
<p>Andrew paused as he began to place the remaining scraps of
food in the
wicker basket. "Never?"
</p>
<p>I wondered whether he thought I actually knew the names of any
of the
animals near us. "Only when I crossed the border into and out of
Koretia.
My father never allowed me to travel outside the palace grounds. . . .
We had a forest on the grounds." Birds' names I did know.
</p>
<p>"Yes," said Andrew, not looking up.
</p>
<p>My face and neck flushed then. I had entirely forgotten what
Andrew
and I had done in that forest, when we were disguising ourselves as a
Daxion
soldier and his woman.
</p>
<p>The stream wound between the high banks, growing increasingly
rocky
as we approached the mountains. Andrew negotiated the stream with skill
as I turned to call out the location of the approaching rocks. Thus I
was
the first to notice the orchard.
</p>
<p>It was the first orchard I had seen in my life, which showed
how sheltered
my life had been. Daxis is famed for its orchards, and especially for
its
apple crop. As the High Lady had rightly noted, Daxion orchards could
easily
have driven out of business any orchards in Emor and Koretia, had not
trade
agreements been negotiated between the Three Lands long ago. I
wondered,
with sudden alarm, whether those agreements remained in place now, with
Daxis at war against Koretia. Would economic war follow the war between
soldiers?
</p>
<p>Andrew had paused his poling to watch, not the
orchard-workers, but
me. He asked, "Do you want to stop?"
</p>
<p>I nodded. He took a deep breath, as though I had requested
something
great of him, but he said nothing as he turned our boat toward the bank
again.
</p>
<p>Leaving him to tie the boat to a shrub, I made my way through
a cluster
of olive trees before reaching the orchard. It was mainly young men
picking
the apples, though I saw a few women holding the baskets. One of them,
sighting me, gave a friendly wave and came over.
</p>
<p>By the time she reached me, Andrew had caught up. I saw her
cast a curious
glance at my outfit; I was still in my slave-tunic. Saving her the
embarrassment
of having to decide which of us to address, Andrew asked, "Have you
need
of laborers?"
</p>
<p>Her face lit up. "We do indeed; several of us are sick and
can't work
today. We can pay half a silver each."
</p>
<p>Andrew glanced at me, and I shook my head. With Andrew's purse
so full
from his pay as an ambassador, there was no need for us to be picking
the
pockets of the orchard's owner – even if he or she was no doubt rich.
</p>
<p>In this respect, I was proven wrong. As the orchard-woman
escorted us
forward – thoroughly friendly toward us, now that Andrew had offered
our
services for free – I learned that the orchard was owned jointly by the
men and women who were picking the fruit.
</p>
<p>"We call ourselves the Siblinghood," she said, using the
ancient Daxion
word. "We share all of our earnings together, and we consider ourselves
equals."
</p>
<p>"That sounds very Koretian," commented Andrew. He was speaking
in Daxion,
not as perfectly as Perry could, but here, closer to the Emorian
border,
his mixed Emorian-Koretian accent could pass as northern Daxion.
</p>
<p>The orchard-woman laughed. "In Koretia, it would have to be a
Brotherhood
only, from what I hear. Isn't it true that women there aren't allowed
to
own property in their own right? That any property they have belongs to
their husbands or their fathers?"
</p>
<p>"I hadn't heard that." Andrew's voice was colorless.
</p>
<p>I couldn't help staring at him. He didn't even know whether
his sister
owned the clothes she wore? This was as bad as the terrible tales I had
heard about Koretians from my fellow slaves at the Daxion palace.
</p>
<p>Andrew caught my eye upon him. He said, more stiffly than
usual, "I
am rather ignorant of women's affairs, I fear."
</p>
<p>Fortunately, the orchard-woman had hurried ahead to tell the
other workers
about us. I said judiciously, "You've been busy, I expect."
</p>
<p>Andrew didn't reply. The orchard-woman returned with an empty
basket
in hand. She asked Andrew, "Can you climb a tree?"
</p>
<p>"I've never done so." There was a hint of amusement in
Andrew's eyes
as he glanced my way.
</p>
<p>"I can." I looked up at the apple trees. They were not very
tall; I'd
climbed taller trees in my father's forest. Climbing trees had been one
of my great pleasures as a young child, for Richard was very poor at
climbing
trees; I was always able to climb higher than my cousin.
</p>
<p>"Well, you can't climb trees in that," the orchard-woman
declared, eyeing
my thigh-length tunic again. "Come with me, and I'll see that you're
better
outfitted."
</p>
<p>When I returned a while later, wearing the outfit loaned to me
by the
orchard-woman, I found Andrew deep in conversation with one of the
orchard-men.
From what I could hear, Andrew had progressed past the point of
learning
the different varieties of apples and how to plant and tend trees; now
the conversation was centered on the best ways to harvest.
</p>
<p>I listened for a while, struck not for the first time by
Andrew's ability
to drink in knowledge of a new subject. As I listened longer, though,
it
began to sound to me as though Andrew were not entirely ignorant of the
world of apples. Of course there were orchards in Emor; I remembered
Emor's
High Lord mentioning his orchard during his visit to the Daxion palace.
But Andrew had served in the Chara's palace during his years in Emor;
it
seemed odd that he should be acquainted with country life. Perhaps he
had
learned about apple trees later, during his years as an ambassador and
spy?
</p>
<p>I was still mulling over this image of a spy who took the
trouble to
learn which worms attack apples, when Andrew turned to look at me.
</p>
<p>He staggered back. Until that moment, I had not thought that
anything
short of the Jackal with his claws outstretched could cause Andrew to
stagger
back.
</p>
<p>"What—?" For a moment, Andrew seemed too out of breath to
speak. Then
he demanded, "What in the names of every god that ever existed are you
doing, wearing that?"
</p>
<p>I glanced down at myself. It did feel odd for me to be wearing
men's
breeches, but Andrew's reaction seemed entirely out of proportion for
the
oddity. "Well," I said in a practical manner, "it's either this, or I
scrape
my legs while climbing the trees."
</p>
<p>The orchard-man was laughing now. "Not used to seeing your
woman dressed
like a boy, are you?" he said, slapping Andrew on the back. "Don't
worry;
we'll return her to you as a woman. Just think of her as the Song
Spirit
till then." He winked at me as he returned to his task of catching
apples
tossed down from the trees.
</p>
<p>Andrew slowly bent down to pick up the basket that the
orchard-woman
had given him. He couldn't seem to keep his eyes off me. I resisted the
impulse to tug my tunic down to hide more of the breeches. "Shall we
start
with this tree?" I asked briskly.
</p>
<p>The breeches did indeed make a great difference; it was with
wonder
that I looked back upon my memory of climbing trees bare-legged as a
young
girl. The breeches were more modest too, which helped; picking the
apples
required a great deal of stretching and straddling. Without the
breeches,
Andrew would have received a much better view of me than I thought he
would
have been able to manage.
</p>
<p>Perhaps this thought occurred to him too, for he said nothing
more about
the breeches. Instead, as he stood below me with the basket, he
remarked,
"I'm curious about something. Why were all the bards at the Prince's
contest
male? Isn't the King's Bard always female?"
</p>
<p>"The King's Bard, yes," I replied as I tossed down an apple.
He caught
it with one hand and gently placed it in the basket he was holding in
his
opposite arm. "Not the Queen's Bard. Can you move a little closer to
me?"
</p>
<p>Andrew complied as I dropped an apple down. "The Prince isn't
a Queen,"
he noted.
</p>
<p>"Perhaps he hopes that his first-born will be a girl? Or he
doesn't
care whether he eventually has a male bard? I can't penetrate the
Prince's
thinking. He has already broken tradition if he is going to make
Eulalee
his Consort."
</p>
<p>"How so? And why must the Bard be the opposite sex as the
ruler of Daxis?"
</p>
<p>I sighed, pushing the hair out of my face. This was entirely
too deep
a conversation for me to hold while I was trying to edge myself onto a
branch. Wiping the sweat off my brow, I said patiently, "It's
tradition.
The King or Queen is balanced by the Consort and Bard, who together
form
a triad that is the Song Spirit."
</p>
<p>When I glanced down, I saw that Andrew was frowning. "I
thought the
King was the Song Spirit's representative."
</p>
<p>I nearly toppled from the branch, so surprised was I by this
ignorant
statement. "Not at all!" I said. "It's the three of them together that
make the Song Spirit. The King orders his Bard to sing what the Spirit
bids. The Bard's rendition helps to tell the King what the Spirit
wants.
If the King misjudges what the Spirit wants, then the Consort must
speak
up and tell him his error. That's how it has always been. When my
father
didn't remarry after he was widowed . . . that was a bad sign."
</p>
<p>"A sign that he was resisting being corrected by the Song
Spirit. Yes,
I see." Andrew moved closer, so that the basket he was holding would be
under me. "But when I think upon it now, I don't fully understand how
the
King can be the Song Spirit. He is male, and the Song Spirit is
female."
</p>
<p>This time I did tumble. Andrew caught me, letting the apples
drop to
the ground. As he set me down, I stared at him. "You cannot mean that."
</p>
<p>Andrew stared back, then seemed to realize that he was still
holding
me, for he let go and crouched down to pick up the fallen apples. "What
do you mean?"
</p>
<p>"The Song Spirit isn't female." I tried to sound
matter-of-fact, despite
the fact I was still reverberating from the shock of what Andrew had
said.
"She is our Mother, yes, and she watches over her children. But deep
within
her womb, she isn't any gender at all."
</p>
<p>Andrew's hand stilled upon an apple. Without looking up, he
said, "All
gods and goddesses have gender."
</p>
<p>"You told me once that the Unknowable God was all gods," I
said, watching
him as he set the apple into the basket.
</p>
<p>"I believe so, yes. So does John. It was he who taught me to
worship
the Unknowable God."
</p>
<p>"Well," I said, in what seemed to me to be an entirely
reasonable manner,
"how could the Unknowable God encompass all gods if he is male? Or is
it
only the gods he encompasses, and not the goddesses?"
</p>
<p>This time Andrew froze entirely. I waited patiently for him to
understand
what the youngest Daxion is taught to understand. Finally he said, "The
Unknowable God is a he. The Song Spirit is a she."
</p>
<p>"Only in the modern Daxion language," I replied. "The oldest
songs about
the Song Spirit, such as the Song of Succession, are sung in ancient
Daxion.
I've been teaching that language to Perry, during our journey; I could
teach it to you also—"
</p>
<p>"No."
</p>
<p>His interruption was so curt that I frowned. He glanced up at
me finally,
then rose to his feet, brushing dirt off his summer-bare legs. He said,
"I meant that I know ancient Daxion, more or less. It's not that
different
from ancient Koretian or ancient Emorian; I know both those languages.
I also know Border Koretian, which some priests believe has roots that
go back even further than the other ancient tongues. The main
difference
between modern Border Koretian and the ancient tongues is that modern
Border
Koretian genders its nouns."
</p>
<p>"So you know what I mean," I said, relieved that we had
finally broken
past our impasse. "In ancient Daxion, the Song Spirit is he/she.
Everyone
is he/she in the ancient songs. Rosetta told me once that we don't even
know whether the first ruler of Daxis was a King or a Queen, because
the
Song of Succession calls that person he/she and Ruler. I suppose that,
in ancient Koretian, the Unknowable God is he/she as well."
</p>
<p>"It's just a trick of the language." Andrew almost seemed to
be speaking
to himself as he leaned forward to place the fallen basket upright.
"The
ancient tongues are primitive; that's why they don't contain the
necessary
parts of grammar."
</p>
<p>"That's ridiculous," I said crossly. "You might as well say
that the
Chara's law is primitive because it has existed since Emor was founded,
a thousand years ago. Ancient Daxion isn't primitive when it regards
the
Song Spirit as encompassing all genders, any more than the Jackal is
primitive
when he says that the Unknowable God encompasses all god/desses." I
deliberately
switched to Ancient Daxion at the final word, and I saw Andrew's
expression
flicker.
</p>
<p>I hesitated. An image had occurred to me, and I knew that it
was a dangerous
image – an image that was like a blade in my hand. But it was a true
image,
and always, throughout my life, I had sought truth.
</p>
<p>So I said, "Rosetta once told me that this is why the Marriage
Song
is sung together, by both the man and the woman. It's because, in
joining
their voices together, the husband and wife enter the Song Spirit's
womb
and break beyond all gender."
</p>
<p>Nearby, the orchard-men and orchard-women laughed and called
to each
other and sung snatches of song. The breeze blew, edged with the chill
of approaching eventide. Where Andrew and I stood, the only sound was a
whisper of steel against leather as he unsheathed his blade.
</p>
<p>He held his blade in his hand just long enough for my heart to
thunder;
then, slowly, he drew the blade across his palm, as he had once done in
my father's dungeon.
</p>
<p>"I, Andrew son of Gideon, do swear that I shall bring Serva
daughter
of Clelia to safety, and that during this journey I shall protect her
with
my life," he said, his voice as cold as mountain snow. "I further swear
that, once she is safe, I shall leave her. And I swear that if she
calls
for me again, I shall not come. I swear this vow, by my blood and by my
name, to the Unknowable God."
</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>The sun was dipping toward the horizon. I watched, my spirit
dull and
listless, as Andrew took the basket of apples back to the
orchard-woman,
his bloodied hand wrapped in his face-cloth.
</p>
<p>It was useless to pretend to him that I had not known what I
was doing.
Useless also to pretend I had not understood his reply. For the second
time in three months, I had proposed marriage. For the second time in
three
months, Andrew had made virulently clear that he would not have me.
</p>
<p>I did not have the boldness to ask a third time. But it hardly
mattered,
for so great was Andrew's fear of marrying me that I would have no
opportunity
now to persuade him to change his mind. Soon we would be at the Chara's
palace, and once I was safely deposited there, Andrew would leave me
forever,
as his vow demanded.
</p>
<p>I wiped away a stray tear and knelt down to pick up a few
stray apples,
as above us a nightingale sang its farewell to summer.
</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>"It's no good," said Perry as he laid down his harp in our inn
suite.
"The forbidden passage in the Song of Succession is an <i>invented</i>
passage."
</p>
<p>It was four days later. I had awaited Perry's return in great
anxiety,
and no doubt Andrew had as well, torn as he must have felt between
protecting
me and seeking his lost friend. Finally, to my great relief, Perry and
Marius had reappeared.
</p>
<p>Marius had already left, having resigned from his function of
escort
with a rapidity which suggested that the journey had not been an easy
one
for either the soldier or the bard. Perry, though, was eager to talk
about
his visit to Thome.
</p>
<p>"He and Flavia were joyful to see me," Perry said. "Thome
talked on
and on about being trained by Eulalee. With Flavia's permission, Thome
taught me all of the forbidden songs. I don't know why he trusted me so
much, but he said that he'd missed my singing. Also, he said that the
Prince
had very sharply ordered him not to discuss the forbidden version of
the
Song of Succession with Serva. So, since Serva wasn't there, he sang it
to me." Perry ended his recital with a grin.
</p>
<p>"The Prince's methods miscarry for once," commented Andrew.
"But what
about the Song of Succession?"
</p>
<p>"The passage about the Consort is invented," Perry repeated
patiently.
"The version that Thome learned has other forbidden passages, but the
song
just skips over the part we wanted to learn about. Thome said that
Eulalee
told him that it's a test for the King's Bard. If the Spirit sends her
the missing passage at the time the bard first sings the Song of
Succession
privately to the King, at the time of his enthronement, then she really
is the King's Bard. If it doesn't, she isn't."
</p>
<p>"I remember that Rosetta said something about the song being a
test,"
I murmured. "But what this means is we can't know what the forbidden
passage
said. Only the Prince knows now."
</p>
<p>Andrew leaned back against the wall. He was sitting rigidly on
the bright
floor-cushions, watching me with a cool gaze, but otherwise his
demeanor
gave no hint that anything unusual had occurred between us during
Perry's
absence. As I went over to light the candles to scatter the dusk-dark,
he said, "Well, we can use the wits we were born with to figure it out.
The forbidden passage is about the Consort, and the passage relates to
you in some way. What does that tell us?"
</p>
<p>"That the song prophesies me as a Consort," I replied
promptly. "I worked
that out long ago. So my father was worried that I would marry someone
who would become his heir in the Prince's place. Therefore he tried to
force me to marry the Prince, but to marry him in the Spirit, so that
the
prophesy wouldn't come true. I don't suppose he thought a slave-woman,
even his own daughter, should become a Consort."
</p>
<p>"And you remain a danger to the Prince because the council
hasn't confirmed
him as heir." Perry sat next to the window, running his fingers lightly
over the strings of his harp. He had seated himself so that the dark
side
of his face was turned toward the night.
</p>
<p>Andrew's back was as taut against the wall as one of Perry's
strings.
His expression was as unreadable as ever. "It might be true," he said.
"If this theory is right, then the Prince's obvious move would be to
try
to kill Serva."
</p>
<p>"The soldiers he sent against us didn't try to kill us," Perry
pointed
out. "They only tried to capture us."
</p>
<p>"Perhaps they were going to capture you and kill me," I
suggested.
</p>
<p>"Or perhaps the Prince intended to force you to marry some
friend of
his," Perry said, picking out lightly a phrase from the Song of the
Broken
Hearts, which is about a loveless, arranged marriage.
</p>
<p>Still motionless on the cushions, Andrew said quietly, "The
Prince doesn't
strike me as the type to trust any man with marrying a potential
Consort.
Besides, his last talk with Derek suggested that he planned to keep
Serva
to himself."
</p>
<p>"That was before my father died," I said. "But I think you're
right.
If he doesn't plan to kill me, then I think he'll force me to become
his
mistress. Perhaps he is gambling that no man will want me once I have
lost
my honor."
</p>
<p>Andrew stood up slowly and went over to the window. Perry
smiled trustingly
at the other thief as Andrew reached out to touch one of the strings.
"Whose
honor would be lost in such an arrangement is a question that could be
debated," he said. "But whether this theory is correct or not, we can
be
sure that you would not be safe in the Prince's hands, perhaps not even
if the council confirmed him."
</p>
<p>I was silent a moment as I toyed with the strap of Perry's
harp case.
In the dusk-light, I could see only dimly Andrew's face, and his switch
to formal language was not enough to allow me to guess at what hidden
messages
he was sending me. "So I need to get beyond his reach as soon as
possible,"
I said. "And after that— It means exile till the end of my life. Exile
from Daxis, and exile from the bards' music."
</p>
<p>Andrew neither moved nor replied. It was Perry, his eyes fixed
on me,
who came to stand near me. He said softly, "<i>I'll</i>
sing to you. I'll
be your bard for as long as—"
</p>
<p>He stopped suddenly. There appeared on his face the expression
of a
small animal who has spent his life avoiding a certain trap, only to
find
the metal jaws closing in on him. His breath travelled swiftly in and
he
took a step backwards, his eye wide with fear. Then he turned and
darted
into a corner. He stayed there with his face turned toward the wall,
and
his back shaking.
</p>
<p>Andrew finally broke the silence by saying with an even voice,
"It is
hard to say where Serva's future lies, and it is too early to make
predictions
about what will happen even a few months from now. We are certain of
only
one thing: that we must get her to Emor safely. And that may be a song
in itself."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A week later we stood on a wet and chilly beach, staring
gloomily at
a wall that was the height of three men.
</p>
<p>I looked over at Andrew. Alone among us, he seemed not to
notice the
ice-cold ocean spray that was battering against our cloaks. The wind
blew
a damp clump of hair into his eyes; he absentmindedly pushed it aside,
his gaze shifting as he scrutinized the length of the beach wall.
Finally
he said, "For a land that cannot decide where its borders lie, Daxis
certainly
protects its boundaries well."
</p>
<p>"Perhaps the border guards will only be interested in
preventing people
from entering Daxis, not keeping them from leaving it," I suggested.
</p>
<p>Andrew continued to look at the wall, which ran from the foot
of one
of the Koretian border mountains to the sea that growled like a
mountain
cat as its waves collapsed onto the beach. "I would like to think so,
but
I doubt that the Prince has neglected to alert them to our journey.
So."
His eyes scanned from left to right as he spoke. "None of us can swim,
the wall is too slick with ocean spray to attempt to scale, and that
mountain
. . ." His voice trailed off as his eyes rose toward the side of the
mountain.
It was as steep and high as a thousand-year-old tree.
</p>
<p>"So what do we do?" Perry was digging with his shoe at the wet
sand
under our feet. As he did so, the ocean water rapidly filled the cavity
he had formed.
</p>
<p>Andrew glanced over at Perry; then his gaze lingered on the
shivering
figure beside him. "Remove ourselves from this wind, I think," he said,
and began walking back to where we had made our camp the night before,
in a small cave beneath one of the mountains. We had been forced to
abandon
all inns three days before, when it became clear that we were being
tracked
closely by the King's spies.
</p>
<p>As Perry and I caught up with Andrew, I said, "Something is
sure to
occur to us if we think about it long enough."
</p>
<p>"Time is lacking, alas," Andrew replied. "Do you remember that
peddler
I spoke to at Border Port yesterday?"
</p>
<p>I nodded, remembering that I had been surprised to see Andrew
holding
such a long conversation with a stranger.
</p>
<p>"Cathmor," said Perry.
</p>
<p>"What?" I turned to look at Perry, and nearly slipped on a
piece of
seaweed.
</p>
<p>Andrew steadied me with his hand before releasing me quickly.
"He said
he'd never met you," he told Perry.
</p>
<p>"He wouldn't remember me. I caught a glimpse of him eight
years ago
when he came to the palace to meet John. That was when he first became
a thief. He has worked in the Daxion borderland ever since then, hasn't
he?"
</p>
<p>Andrew nodded. "He keeps well up on the news. Cathmor says
that the
Prince has sent out a unit of soldiers from the palace; they're only a
day's ride behind us now, which suggests that they're one of the elite
units within the army vanguard. They're trained to move swiftly and to
capture and kill without fail. I do not like to think what will happen
if they catch up with us."
</p>
<p>"If we went over the border to Koretia and stayed there—" I
said.
</p>
<p>"They would follow us over. If the Prince is desperate enough
to send
part of his vanguard away when there is still a chance of war breaking
out, then he will not have instructed them to stop at the Koretian
border.
They dare not enter Emor, though. Daxis needs to retain its alliance
with
the Emorians."
</p>
<p>"I'm beginning to hate borders," I said grimly. "Why don't we
just get
rid of all the boundaries and live in one land?"
</p>
<p>Perry laughed. "I think that is Emor's vision of the future:
swallow
up the other lands and make one giant empire of them all."
</p>
<p>"The vision is tempting," said Andrew, "but which land would
we end
up choosing? Koretia and Daxis, where all are subject to the gods, or
Emor,
where nobody believes in gods? Daxis, where everyone sings, or Koretia
and Emor, where no one can properly listen to songs? I fear that it
will
be many centuries before we are likely to see an empire that is varied
enough to suit everyone. Until then, the most we can hope for is that
the
Three Lands can learn to communicate in a manner somewhat more
civilized
than trying to slit one another's throats every few years."
</p>
<p>He stopped to push aside the blanket we had hooked across the
mouth
of the cave in an effort to keep out the worst of the autumn wind. It
took
me some effort to realize that we were already in autumn. Back home, I
knew, the sun was golden warm in the evenings, while here at the
northern
border I found myself shivering at noonday. Andrew walked forward to
the
center of the cave and began poking at the fire, which was in its
death-throes.
Sparks fled upwards. Perry hesitated at the mouth of the cave.
</p>
<p>"Close the blanket," said Andrew without looking up. "I will
never get
this fire going if that wind blows it out."
</p>
<p>Perry obediently did so, being forced at the same time to
enter and
share the same space with a fire, something he always found difficult
to
do. He waited until the flames were leaping from the logs once more;
then
he deliberately walked forward and seated himself at a body's length
from
the fire.
</p>
<p>"So," said Andrew, going over to remove a flask from his
saddlebag,
"we are left with the possibility of going into the black border
mountains
and trying to outwit the border mountain patrol."
</p>
<p>Perry groaned. I took the flask of wild-berry wine from
Andrew's hand
and asked, "What is the border mountain patrol?"
</p>
<p>"I think that we'd have a better chance with the Prince's
vanguard,"
said Perry gloomily.
</p>
<p>"You may be right," said Andrew. He accepted the flask back,
but did
not drink from it. "A single mountain pass leads from Koretia to Emor,
but it would be easy enough for any border-breacher to leave the pass
and
travel behind one of the mountains. Because of this, the Chara has his
mountain patrol monitor the area surrounding the pass. The mountain
patrol
guards are the finest border soldiers in the Three Lands. Almost no one
in this generation has slipped past them."
</p>
<p>"You have," said Perry.
</p>
<p>"Which makes me unpopular with the patrol. They have caught me
more
times than not, so I generally try to slip into Emor by way of one of
the
trading ships." Andrew stoppered the flask and placed the container
halfway
between himself and Perry. Perry began to reach for it, and then
scooted
back from the fire rapidly as one of the logs popped, launching a small
red missile of fire in Perry's direction. For a moment he stared at the
spark, fading on the flat stone floor of the cave. Then he resolutely
edged
himself forward again.
</p>
<p>Andrew was saying, "The season is too late for us to try the
ocean;
the ships stop running when the autumn gales arrive. We will have to
take
our chances with the patrol. The question is not whether the guards
will
see us – they will – but rather how we can convince them to let us
pass."
</p>
<p>"Tell them the truth," I suggested.
</p>
<p>Andrew leaned forward. Firelight flickered upon him, creating
the only
movement on his face. "Truth is not something that the mountain patrol
is accustomed to receive from me. I fear they would believe nothing I
told
them unless they had a compelling reason to do so. The patrol guards,"
he said reflectively, "are trained to halt everyone and trust no one."
</p>
<p>"Lord Carle was in the mountain patrol when he was young,
wasn't he?"
Perry said. He was nursing the flask, keeping his eye on the fire.
</p>
<p>"Yes, which goes a long way to explain his cunning and
ruthlessness."
Andrew glanced over at me. I was yawning into my palms, partly as a way
to keep them warm. "You received very little sleep last night, what
with
the cold. Why not rest now? We will have to cross the mountains twice,
entering into Koretia and leaving it. We cannot take the horses over
that
terrain, so we have much walking ahead of us."
</p>
<p>I made no protest, but instead bundled myself into the blanket
lying
on the ground nearby. I lay awhile with my eyes closed, smelling the
ocean
wind and the cave moss, and listening to the soft voices of Andrew and
Perry, barely audible over the blustery voice of the fire. Then my mind
drifted away, as though I were a twig on a wave.
</p>
<p>I awoke some time later to the sound of Andrew coughing. Lying
with
my eyes closed, reluctant to leave the warm blankets, I heard Perry say
with concern, "I hope you're not being attacked by chill-fever."
</p>
<p>"The Prince won't rid himself of me that easily," said Andrew.
He was
speaking in the colloquial tongue again, since he believed me to be
sleep.
I slitted open my eyes and saw that he was standing by the horses,
watching
as Perry fed them by hand. Neither man looked my way.
</p>
<p>Perry said, "If we only need to persuade their lieutenant—"
</p>
<p>"We've gone over that already. Quentin-Griffith comes from a
long bloodline
of patrol guards; I've heard that his father was a companion of Lord
Carle
when they were in the patrol together. And so Quentin-Griffith is more
skeptical than the rest of his men. If the god himself were to appear
at
the border, he would have a hard time persuading Quentin-Griffith to
let
him through."
</p>
<p>"The god . . ." Perry reached over to the saddlebag to scoop
out more
grain as he said, "The god is involved in this somehow; he sent us the
dream about Serva. If we could convince Quentin-Griffith that the god
wishes
us to protect Serva . . . Of course, I suppose that we would have to
convince
him first that we have any communication with the gods. I know that the
Emorians don't have much faith in such matters."
</p>
<p>"That's a moderate way to phrase the fact." Andrew stood in
his usual
rigid pose, only his right hand relaxing as it stroked his horse.
"Peter
was the one Emorian I ever knew who was willing to accept the
possibility
of the god's existence, and that was only because he heard the god
speak.
John taught me some of his priestly rites, but most of them wouldn't be
powerful enough to impress Quentin-Griffith into believing that we were
following the god's command."
</p>
<p>Perry's left hand, which had been under the lips of his horse,
suddenly
dropped, spilling the grain onto the ground. The horse gave a whinny of
protest. The bard's other hand tightened on the mane of the horse. In
the
dim light cast by the fire, I could see the white of his remaining eye
grow larger and his lips part.
</p>
<p>Andrew made no move, except to continue stroking the horse;
his gaze
was fixed on Perry. Finally Perry said in a tight voice, "All right."
</p>
<p>"You don't have to do it just because I suggest it," said
Andrew.
</p>
<p>Perry knelt down next to the grain on the floor and began
gathering
it methodically into his palm. "I want to," he said.
</p>
<p>"Why?"
</p>
<p>There was no reply; Perry continued to kneel, his head bowed
over the
red seeds that had spilled. Andrew sat down on the ground beside him.
"Perry,
you can't do this without my help. I need to know that you're doing it
for the right reasons."
</p>
<p>Perry's fist closed over the ruddy grain. He looked up and
said, "John
told me to take care of Serva. I want to be able to help her; she
changed
everything for me by teaching me to sing. But the whole time that we've
been in Daxis, she has cared for me. Whenever we've encountered
trouble,
she has been the one who has found a way out for us."
</p>
<p>"That's how she is," said Andrew. "I had to accept her help
also, you
remember."
</p>
<p>"Yes, but—" Perry's chin began to tremble. He quickly placed
his hands
over his mouth to hide this. His muffled voice said, "That's the way it
has been my whole life; somebody has always taken care of me. And now
here
is something I can do that no one else can do. I <i>can't</i>
refuse to
do it." He paused, and then added the argument which, for Perry, was
irrefutable:
"John would want me to do it."
</p>
<p>In the silence that followed I heard only the roar of the
flames and
the piercing cry of the ocean gulls outside. Andrew said, his voice
quite
soft, "Very well. I'll help you."
</p>
<p>Perry looked down at the ground for a moment more; then he
drew out
his sword and touched the blade lightly. To my surprise, he then
reached
out and touched Andrew above the eyes, whispering something I could not
hear, before snatching his hand back and resheathing his weapon.
Swiftly
he rose and walked to the cave entrance, his head bowed once more. He
pushed
past the blanket without looking back.
</p>
<p>Andrew had been watching him go; now his gaze turned toward
me. I pushed
my blanket aside. "You knew I was listening."
</p>
<p>"I thought that you should know Perry's reasons for doing it."
</p>
<p>I stood up and began walking over to where Andrew still sat.
"All right,
I know why, and I accept his reasons. But I still don't know what it is
that you're doing. What do you plan to—?"
</p>
<p>I halted, my breath caught in my throat. I had come close
enough to
Andrew to see on his forehead the mark of blood – the sign of
absolution.
"What is it?" I whispered.
</p>
<p>Andrew rose stiffly to his feet. "The Sun God rite," he said
wearily.
"We are doing the Sun God rite."
</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>Some days later Andrew and I walked side by side through the
windswept
black border mountains between Koretia and Emor, watching Perry travel
ahead of us.
</p>
<p>There had been no trouble making it through the lightly
patrolled mountain
pass between Daxis and Koretia, nor in passing the Koretian guards at
the
land's western and northern borders. Now we were in the no-man's-land
between
Koretia and Emor, climbing our way breathlessly through the steep,
narrow
pass
between the sheer mountain walls. I allowed my gaze to drift up toward
the mountains, wondering how the Chara's patrol managed to climb over
such
rocks. Then I looked up at the peaks, which were wet with snow. We were
lucky, Andrew had said, that it was still early in the season. Not even
the patrol guards stayed in the mountains once the ground snows began.
</p>
<p>My gaze drifted back down to Perry, walking steadily with his
head held
high. I said, "I don't know what to say to him."
</p>
<p>"I doubt there is anything either of us can say."
</p>
<p>I turned my gaze to Andrew. His right hand was balancing the
strap of
the one supply pack we had brought with us; his gaze was focussed on
the
road ahead. No dagger hung from his belt yet, though I had found the
courage
that morning to suggest hesitantly to Andrew that he might wish to have
his weapon close at hand when we met the mountain patrol. In reply,
Andrew
had silently gestured with his head toward Perry, who was packing his
own
sword away.
</p>
<p>Andrew's only comment was: "We will stand a better chance of
surviving
an encounter with the patrol if we meet them unarmed."
</p>
<p>Now, my mind still on that dagger, I said, "This is just as
hard for
you. You're the one who has to—" I swallowed the word.
</p>
<p>"My blade will play no role," said Andrew, still avoiding my
eye. "The
rite does not demand that. But yes, it is through me that the sacrifice
is made – if it is made."
</p>
<p>The only sound around us was the wind howling through the
mountains.
Few animals appeared to live in this rocky wasteland. Andrew shifted
his
gaze as we rounded the side of the mountain; he was still watching, I
knew,
for the patrol. But he said, without diminishing his voice below its
usual
low level, "Actually, that is not the part of the rite I dread the
most.
John taught me this rite several years ago when I was training Perry as
a spy. Perry had said that, if he were dying, he might consider taking
part in the rite in order to have a brief period of his life in which
he
was normal. So John showed me how to do the rite in case I alone was
there
if Perry was mortally wounded. But he taught me how to do the ancient
rite
rather than the modern one."
</p>
<p>"What is the difference?" I asked, pulling from my face the
hair that
the wind had thrust there. Only half my mind was following what Andrew
said; The rest of me was thinking that Andrew's face was much like the
landscape of these mountains: rigid, harsh, mysterious. Of all the
places
we had visited together, he seemed most at home here on the border.
</p>
<p>"In the modern rite, the priest speaks for the god," said
Andrew. "In
the ancient rite, he <i>is</i> the god."
</p>
<p>I let out my breath slowly. "You can do that?"
</p>
<p>"John says I can. He says that I do not have the ability to
take on
the god's power all the time – I knew that already – but that I can do
it briefly if necessary. He told me once that he thought it would be
good
for me to see what it was like to be a god-man. I am not sure why. I
suppose
he meant that it would help me to understand better what he and the
Chara
undergo."
</p>
<p>I looked down at the path, scuffing my boots along the flat
stones and
tiny pebbles. "I feel useless being nothing but an observer."
</p>
<p>"The witness's role is just as hard as the others." Andrew
raised his
head, staring up at the empty slopes above us. "And even if you were
not
witnessing, I think that you would have the most difficult role. Peter
used to say that the hardest part of being the Chara was accepting the
service of his subjects."
</p>
<p>"I'm not the Chara," I said, trying once more to disentangle
my hair
as the winds howled above us. "I'm not even a princess. And if it was
hard
for the Chara—" I stopped, remembering the easy manner in which my
father
had always accepted the homage of his subjects. At least, I had always
thought it was easy for him. "Did the Chara Peter really find it
difficult?"
</p>
<p>"He told me once that he met Lord Carle in the palace corridor
the day
after his enthronement. Without thinking, he gave Lord Carle the
free-man's
greeting; before his enthronement, he was Lord Peter, equal in rank to
the council lords. And when Lord Carle failed to return the gesture, it
suddenly came to Peter what he was: the Chara, the man with no equals."
</p>
<p>I felt a chill travel through me. Then I looked over at
Andrew. "You
gave my cousin the free-man's greeting. Did you do the same for the
Chara
Peter?"
</p>
<p>"He wanted me to, so I did." Andrew's gaze settled upon Perry
once more.
He still did not look my way. "That was the moment when I realized that
it was no good my trying to belong to one rank or another. I would
always
be without a—"
</p>
<p>His voice cut off abruptly as the winds above us suddenly
screamed into
a high whistle. At the same moment, Perry dodged over to the mountain
wall
and flattened himself against it. Andrew, in close succession, jerked
me
under a ledge we were passing, and then went motionless. With great
effort,
I resisted an urge to rub my nose; I had given in to the inevitable and
acquired a cold the day before. I waited, barely breathing. I saw to my
surprise that Andrew was not even looking at the mountain slope before
us. Instead, his eyes were closed. I closed my own eyes, but I could
hear
nothing except the endless, spiralling tune of the winds blowing up and
down the scale. Then the circular whistle was replaced by the chirping
of mountain birds coming from all directions. And in that moment,
Daxion-born
as I was, I realized what song it was that I was hearing.
</p>
<p>My eyes opened as Andrew moved smoothly out from the ledge,
pulling
me along behind him as though I were a cart, and made his way swiftly
over
to the crack in the mountain wall where Perry was sheltered.
</p>
<p>"You have a good ear," he told Perry, "but it is too late;
they have
already seen us. They will be closing in on us soon."
</p>
<p>"How soon?" I asked, looking at the empty path in front of us.
</p>
<p>Andrew drew breath to answer, but his words were cut off as
three soldiers
suddenly leaped down onto the path from the slope above us. In the
amount
of time it would have taken Andrew to reply, a dozen soldiers emerged
from
all sides, their swords drawn. Instinctively, I began to place myself
between
Andrew and the swords. He stopped me. For the first time since the
night
of the fire in Koretia's capital, he placed his arm around my back.
</p>
<p>His attention was on the last soldier to arrive, a lean,
dark-skinned
man of about thirty years. His coloring told me who he was, for Andrew
had already explained that the lieutenant was born in the borderland,
the
area flanking the mountains, where Emorians and Koretians intermarry
freely.
There was a certain stiffness to the lieutenant's posture, though,
which
I had seen in no southerner except Andrew, and which Quentin-Griffith
shared
with the light-skinned men around him. He had brows that hooded his
blue
eyes like that of an eagle, and a smile on his lips that had an
unmistakable
twist of mockery to it.
</p>
<p>The other soldiers parted to let him through. He came toward
us holding
a naked blade, flicked a look at Andrew's empty dagger hand, and
sheathed
his sword. He said, "So nice to meet with you again, Lord Andrew. May I
enquire as to which of your two roles you have assumed on this visit?"
</p>
<p>Andrew reached toward the bottom edge of his tunic, and then
slowed
his hand as the soldier nearest him raised his blade. Andrew glanced at
the lieutenant. The latter gave a short whistle to the soldier, who
lowered
his sword to the waist-high position it had been in the moment before.
Reaching under the tunic, Andrew pulled from his hidden thigh-pocket a
blackroot wood carving in the shape of a mask.
</p>
<p>Quentin-Griffith glanced at the Jackal's royal badge but made
no move
to disperse his soldiers. "I see. And do your companions have equally
impressive
credentials?"
</p>
<p>Andrew answered him with silence. Quentin-Griffith said
lightly, "No,
I thought not. Perry—" His gaze drifted over to Perry, who was pushing
his back against the wall in an effort to keep as far away as possible
from the soldiers. "It is Perry, is it not? I wondered whether I would
meet you one of these days. You are one of the few thieves who has not
previously taken up the challenge of trying to slip through these
mountains.
As to your other companion, Lord Andrew . . ." His gaze drifted over
toward
me, and he said reflectively, "Daxion . . . once a slave . . . now
living
in Koretia. The Jackal has a special talent for enticing foreign slaves
to come to his land and betray their previous homelands." He turned his
eyes toward Andrew once more, his expression now openly hostile.
</p>
<p>Andrew remained silent. Quentin-Griffith bowed his head
suddenly, saying,
"In the Chara's name, I welcome you to our land, Ambassador; I hope
that
you enjoy your stay. Your companions, on the other hand" – his eyes
raked
my body from head to foot – "are ours to do with as we wish."
</p>
<p>"So Emorian law does not reach as far as the black border
mountains?"
said Andrew.
</p>
<p>The soldiers stirred as though Andrew had just spoken some
tremendous
blasphemy or challenge. Quentin-Griffith, his brows lowering a shadow
over
his light eyes, said slowly, "'And being as the black border mountains
are a region of changing boundaries and circumstances, and being as the
men who patrol this area have clearer understanding of what occurs in
the
borderland than even the Great Chara himself, it is declared that the
border
mountain patrol guards are granted independence from the laws of the
Chara
where they shall deem the circumstances require it and, excepting for
charges
placed by their own officials, may not be summoned on any charge but
for
the Great Three crimes against the Chara . . .' That is part of the
Justification
to the Law of the Border Mountain Patrol. You can find the full text in
the volume on men who are granted immunity from certain aspects of the
law; it is a few pages away from the Law of Ambassadors. And may I
suggest,
Lord Andrew, that if ever you plan to meet with us again on an
unofficial
trip and hope to be received in the same courteous manner that we have
treated you in the past, you should not question our loyalty to the
Chara's
law."
</p>
<p>I realized that in the space of a very few minutes I had
received a
thorough introduction to the Emorian character: fierce, disciplined,
and
law-loving. His gaze still fixed on the lieutenant, Andrew said
quietly,
"I apologize; I ought not to have insulted you. Would it be possible
for
me to have a private word with you?"
</p>
<p>Quentin-Griffith considered this; then his mocking smile
reappeared.
"I am at your service, Ambassador," he said and waved clear a pathway
through
the soldiers for Andrew.
</p>
<p>The pathway closed seamlessly as Quentin-Griffith and Andrew
departed.
The soldiers had not taken their eyes off Perry and me. I found myself
squeezing over to where Perry stood against the wall. His arm was
gripping
his harp case against his tense body, but his eyes had a glazed look as
though he was not really attending to what was occurring. I realized
that
his mind was racing ahead to what would happen next.
</p>
<p>I reached my hand out – not to touch him, but simply to bring
him back
to the present – but stopped as the soldier next to me raised his
sword.
I froze where I was, looking at the sharp blades surrounding us like
the
points of a nettle; then I saw the lieutenant reappear at the edge of
the
guard around us. He said nothing but gave a series of short whistles.
Suddenly
the men were gone, melting back toward wherever their origins had been.
Only the two nearest Perry and me remained.
</p>
<p>Andrew was beside Quentin-Griffith; he gestured with his head.
I tentatively
moved my hand. When this did not result in my immediate death, I took a
step forward. The soldiers fell in on either side of Perry and me as we
came forward, but they made no move to touch either of us.
</p>
<p>Andrew and Quentin-Griffith were walking ahead of us. I could
hear Andrew
providing Quentin-Griffith with a detailed description of the recent
burning
of the Koretian capital; evidently this was his payment for the favor
that
Quentin-Griffith was showing us. We had walked a short ways when
Quentin-Griffith
abruptly turned and walked into a mountain.
</p>
<p>Or so it appeared at first. As I came closer, I saw that there
was an
overlap between one rock and the next, with a tight passage I just
managed
to squeeze through. Ahead was an equally narrow tunnel, black as a
moonless
night. As he entered the passage, Perry looked behind him to see how
close
the soldiers were behind us, lest they try to touch us in the dark.
They
kept their distance, though, as we pressed our way past the cold rock
walls,
finally to emerge breathlessly into a small, grassy basin between three
mountains. Here there was a hut made of rough-hewn stone. The
lieutenant
whistled again, and the soldiers took up a stance flanking the doorway.
</p>
<p>I ducked my way under the door lintel and found myself in a
dimly lit
room filled with sleeping pallets and a few kitchen items; evidently,
this
was where the mountain patrol slept. The only light in the room came
from
a central hole in the roof, above a pile of wood.
</p>
<p>Perry had just stepped through the doorway behind me. His gaze
fell
on the wood, and he began to shiver. Quentin-Griffith noticed this;
misinterpreting
the cause, he said, "I suppose that Emorian climates are not to your
liking.
Would you like a fire lit, southerner?"
</p>
<p>"I will take care of that myself," said Andrew. He was
removing his
cloak, though even Quentin-Griffith, northern-born though he was, was
wearing
a heavy woolen cloak on this day. He said, without looking Perry's way,
"There's a room in the back."
</p>
<p>Quentin-Griffith's gaze followed Perry as he walked toward the
inner
door; the Jackal's thief was now breathing rapidly. I tried without
success
to give him a reassuring smile as he passed. All that I could manage to
do was to link eyes with him. Then his gaze dropped, and he went
through
the door with his head bowed.
</p>
<p>Quentin-Griffith looked back at Andrew. "Well, Ambassador, I
must thank
you for giving me the opportunity to see one of your Koretian
ceremonies.
I have always been fascinated by the quaint religious customs of your
land.
Is there anything I can do to help?"
</p>
<p>"You can keep quiet." Andrew's clipped voice was so short this
time
that I saw Quentin-Griffith's expression tighten, but he made no
comment
as Andrew came over to stand next to the firewood. To his back was the
doorway through which he had entered; to his right was
Quentin-Griffith,
who was now leaning against the wall, watching; in front of him was the
door through which Perry had just gone. At Andrew's gesture, I went
over
to stand by that door. Then I abandoned all pretense of calmness and
hugged
by arms against my chest.
</p>
<p>Andrew drew in his breath slowly. Raising his face and arms,
he said,
"God of the Sun, Healer of the Sick, Slayer of the People's Foes,
Magistrate
to your Servants . . ."
</p>
<p>The invocation to the god went on for some time.
Quentin-Griffith listened
silently, his lips still twisted in his mocking smile. The mountain
wind
bored its way through the hole in the roof, forcing its way through my
heavy cloak; I rubbed my arms in an effort to stay warm. My nose was
dripping,
but I did not want to expose my hands to the icy air in order to wipe
it.
</p>
<p>I heard the word "victim" and realized that Andrew had
continued on
beyond the god's invocation. His eyes were as hard and impenetrable as
the mountains around us as he lowered his arms and called out firmly,
"Perry!"
</p>
<p>There was a soft noise in the room behind me. The door opened,
and Perry
walked in. He had discarded his boots, leg breeches, and tunic, and was
now shivering in his undertunic. Watching him enter in this defenseless
costume, I remembered that the only reference he had made to this event
since his conversation in the cave was to ask Andrew whether he would
have
to be bound. He had waited barely long enough to hear Andrew's reply –
he would not – before changing the topic.
</p>
<p>Perry came over to stand a few arms' length from the wall
opposite Andrew.
I moved over to Perry's side, but he did not look my way. His chin was
up, his fists were clenched, and his eyes were pervaded with fear.
</p>
<p>"Perry son of John," Andrew intoned. Perry did not know his
parents'
names, so Andrew had been forced to modify the invocation of the
victim.
"You have come here as victim to the god's will and as a sacrifice for
the evil you have done in your life. This being the case, offer your
witness
now to the Sun God, and speak to his ears the reasons why he should
accept
your sacrifice, as well as the reasons why he should not. And do not
neglect
to tell him all that he should know, neither try to hide from him any
deed
that you have done, whether for evil or for good, for the god does not
need your words to decide this matter, only your willingness to accept
this role."
</p>
<p>Quentin-Griffith's brows had lowered over his eyes; I wondered
how much
Andrew had explained to him about the rite. Perry stared at the ground
for a long time, so that I had to resist the temptation to stamp my
numb
feet awake again. Finally he looked up and nodded.
</p>
<p>For the first time, I saw Andrew hesitate. He had been holding
his arms
forward, shoulder high and palm up; now, slowly, his palms turned so
that
they were facing the wood-fire in front of him. For a moment more,
Andrew
stood that way, staring down at the wood. Then he said, "Let the god
come."
</p>
<p>The outcome of this short sentence was immediate: from
Andrew's hands
poured forth a stream of fire that crashed into the wood, exploding it
into chest-high flames. At the same moment, a border of fire sprang up
against each of the walls, licking upwards toward the ceiling.
Quentin-Griffith,
who had been leaning against one of these walls and watching with
skepticism
still heavy in his eyes, jumped away and cautiously held out his hand
toward
the flames, before the heat caused him to snatch it back.
</p>
<p>It was now as hot as a midsummer's day in the hut, but I was
not thinking
clearly enough to unclasp my cloak. My thoughts were on Andrew, who was
still staring down at the flames he had started a moment before. There
was a pause which lingered so long that Quentin-Griffith took a step
forward,
his eyes narrowing. Then Andrew looked up, met my eyes across the
flames,
and stepped into the fire.
</p>
<p>I heard a choking sound – it must have come from
Quentin-Griffith, whose
mouth was now agape, for Perry stood mute and motionless as he watched
the flames engulf Andrew. In the next moment, the flames <i>were</i>
Andrew.
Though the flame-figure before us was shaped like a human, no trace of
Andrew's body remained but for the dark, emotionless eyes that stared
out
at the man before him.
</p>
<p>I was standing to the left of Perry; I could not see his one
eye, but
only the blackened hollow of his left face. His lips parted slightly,
but
he did not move as the smoke from the fire around us began to fill the
room and turn everything around us black. All that I could see now,
besides
Perry, were the orange flames surrounding us, and the man-shaped fire
before
us.
</p>
<p>"Perry." The voice of the figure was low and rumbling. "Have
you given
your witness to me entire and in truth?"
</p>
<p>Perry nodded with one jerk of the head. The flame-figure, its
outline
shifting constantly as the fire licked the shape of the body, stretched
out its sun-bright hand. "Then touch me as a sign of your willingness
to
become my victim."
</p>
<p>Dimly through the darkness, I saw something move. "I believe,"
said
Quentin-Griffith, his rasping voice muffled by the roar of the fire. "I
will let you continue into Emor. You need not show me any more."
</p>
<p>"Then wait outside," said Andrew, his voice still low with the
god's
tone. "Once the rite is begun, it cannot be halted."
</p>
<p>A gap opened in the fire at the back of the room where the
outer door
now stood open. As wind blew the smoke aside, I saw the silhouette of
Quentin-Griffith
as he rapidly went to the door. Then the door closed behind him, the
gap
closed, and Perry and I were alone in the room with the Sun God.
</p>
<p>The god had been holding out his hand all this time. Now Perry
slowly
moved forward to the figure. I had a sudden and vivid memory of the
story
Perry had told me of an earlier flame-figure.
</p>
<p>Without hesitation, Perry placed his left hand into the fiery,
red-hot
palm of the god.
</p>
<p>The two hands remained linked for a moment more; then Perry
cried out
and fell to his knees, hunching himself over the twice-burnt hand.
Andrew's
eyes looked down upon Perry dispassionately. The god's gaze rose to
look
at me, and I felt myself pulled unwillingly to come stand by Perry.
</p>
<p>Closer now, I could see buried below the Sun God's flames the
black
outlines of Andrew's original body. The heat from the god pricked and
numbed
my face like needles; the smoke choked my throat. The fire rumbled,
"Perry."
</p>
<p>Perry raised his head. His eyes had gone beyond fear to
desperation,
but he made no attempt to back away as the god took a step forward.
Instead,
he straightened his back. Continuing to kneel, he looked up toward the
face of the Sun God: the round shell of fire, the black cavity of a
mouth
that held no tongue, and the coal-hard eyes of Andrew.
</p>
<p>"Perry son of John," said the god, "do you willingly offer
yourself
up as a sacrifice to me?"
</p>
<p>Perry's voice, though faint, had a firmness to it which
startled me.
"I do."
</p>
<p>The god reached out his hand again. This time it hovered over
Perry's
upturned face, lighting both the rough skin and the smooth, untouched
skin.
Amidst the heat, I felt my body go cold as I realized why it was that
no
blade was needed in this rite. Then the god turned his eyes toward me,
and I realized that he was waiting.
</p>
<p>I never knew afterwards how I managed it. But they were both
waiting
– Andrew, who had taken on the burden of the god's power, and Perry,
for
whom every second more was an agony. And so I asked, "Does the god
accept
this sacrifice?"
</p>
<p>The heat from the god's hand was forming moisture upon Perry's
face;
his one eye was blinking rapidly; he did not move. The shape-shifting
god
looked down at Perry with impartial eyes and said, "No."
</p>
<p>In an instant, the flames were gone, and Andrew stood before
us in his
own body. Perry fell to the ground like a fire-hollowed log that has
crumbled.
He began to shudder once more. Andrew was shaking too, and his face was
covered with sweat. He sank down to the ground beside Perry and said
with
a hoarse, gentle voice, "Perry, the god offers to you a gift."
</p>
<p>Perry raised his head once more. I was still too frozen where
I had
stood all this while; from my vantage point, I could see that there was
sweat on Perry's face, but no tears. He waited.
</p>
<p>"If you wish," said Andrew, "the god will take from you the
fire he
gave to you during your seventh summer. You will be able to speak to
anyone
you wish, you will be able to touch and be touched without pain, and
this—"
Andrew's hand hovered over the left side of Perry's face. "This will be
healed. You will be in every respect a normal man."
</p>
<p>Perry's hands, which were still clenched, one over the other,
drifted
up until they covered his heart. He whispered, "Go on."
</p>
<p>"This is the gift you may take if you wish," said Andrew,
still gently.
"But if you do so, you will have to give up all else that the fire has
brought you. You will lose the courage you have learned over the years,
you will no longer have a perfect memory, and" – Andrew's voice grew
very
soft – "you will not be able to sing as a bard. Do you wish the god to
give you this gift?"
</p>
<p>Perry's clenched hands flattened against his chest, as though
he were
holding his heart in place. A pain passed into his eyes that I had not
seen throughout his ordeal. Andrew waited, the moisture running off his
face in the room still warm from the recent fire.
</p>
<p>Finally Perry whispered, "No."
</p>
<p>Andrew raised his hand and placed it above Perry's head as he
had done
before. He said softly, "Because you have rejected the gift of the god,
and have willingly taken on suffering in the same way that the gods
themselves
suffer for their servants, then know that the peace of the god will
remain
with you always, no matter what you may face in your life ahead. For of
all the Sun God's servants, you, Perry, are his most beloved."
</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>"You were right," I said the following evening. "The worst
part of the
rite was when you turned into the Sun God. I don't know how Perry stood
it."
</p>
<p>We were sitting on the slope of a mountainside, looking down
onto green
fields, villages, a walled city, and, in the midst of the city, a high
hillside holding the white marble palace of the Chara. Andrew, who had
remained nearly as mute as Perry since Quentin-Griffith sent us on our
way, propped his leg up next to our supply pack and laid his arm on it,
saying, "I do not think you understand. That was the worst part of the
rite for me, and the worst part for you, but it was not the worst part
for Perry. What happened was that the god allowed us to see what Perry
sees every time he touches someone."
</p>
<p>"You mean . . ." My voice trailed off as I remembered Perry
reaching
out to me several months before, placing his hand lightly over mine.
His
body had trembled, and his eyes were glazed; now I could visualize what
his eyes had seen.
</p>
<p>I wrapped my cloak tighter around me. "May the Spirit preserve
him.
And now he knows that he will be like that for the rest of his life."
</p>
<p>"He is a braver man than I am." Andrew's gaze was focussed on
the city
beyond the fields, turning dark under the dusk-light but for the
glimmer
of early-evening torches. He reached over to his flask, took a sip, and
then carefully closed the flask and placed it back in the pack,
tightening
the straps as he did so.
</p>
<p>"I don't think you can make that kind of comparison," I said.
"You have
your own kind of courage."
</p>
<p>Andrew's eyes met mine, and for a moment I thought he would
say something.
Then he looked down the grassy slope toward Perry, sitting on a rock
with
his back toward us, plucking at his harp. A few notes drifted up our
way
like a voice calling me.
</p>
<p>"I'll be back in a little while," I said, barely looking
Andrew's way
as I stood up.
</p>
<p>"Take your time," said Andrew and leaned over toward the pack
again.
</p>
<p>I picked my way carefully down the steep slope until I reached
where
Perry was sitting. As I came into his view, he looked up at me, smiling
shyly, and scooted over to one end of the rock. I perched myself at the
other end, an arm's length from Perry, and said, "I don't recognize
that
one."
</p>
<p>"I'm trying to learn how to invent songs." Perry rested the
harp on
his lap. "It's the hardest task of being a bard, I think; I haven't
learned
how to do it properly yet. But I thought that John would be pleased if
I composed a song for him."
</p>
<p>After the silence of the mountains, the sounds around me
seemed deafening:
the chirping of a valiant cricket who refused to acknowledge autumn's
arrival,
the rustle of flames back where Andrew had made our camp, and the
slight
movement of some animal above us that had no doubt been attracted by
our
fire. Perry said abruptly, "John will understand. Hollis and the others
will think I've gone mad. But you understand why I said no, don't you?"
</p>
<p>"Of course," I said. "I'm a Daxion."
</p>
<p>Perry looked down at his harp, touching the strings lightly.
"I wish
that we could have stayed in Daxis longer. Emor scares me. I've never
liked
the Emorians; you've seen what they did to Andrew."
</p>
<p>"But he comes back here."
</p>
<p>"Oh, yes. I think that if your father's torturer had actually
done his
worst, Andrew would go back and have pleasant chats with him once a
year.
I suppose he must be afraid of something in life, but I can't imagine
what
. . ." His voice trailed off as he followed my gaze upslope. There was
a moment of stillness, and then the two of us raced each other to reach
the site.
</p>
<p>"Nothing!" said Perry after a frantic search around the
rapidly darkening
area. "Do you suppose that the Prince's soldiers slipped past the
mountain
patrol after all?"
</p>
<p>"I don't think so." I stood up from where I had been kneeling,
beside
the supply pack, and silently showed Perry what I had found lying
neatly
on top of the pack.
</p>
<p>Perry stared at the blackroot badge in my hand, and then
looked up.
"He left," he said softly.
</p>
<p>"He vowed that he would bring me to Emor, and he did." Closing
the pack
that no longer contained a bone-handled dagger, I looked up the
mountain
path that angled quickly out of view.
</p>
<p>Then I turned my back on the way we had come and stared down
at the
land below us. "Well," I said, trying to swallow the tears in my
throat,
"we still have each other, at least. Together we'll manage to survive
whatever
Emor forces upon us."</p>
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